No. 412 The Bee
The only time I've ever been stung by an insect was when I trod on a bee in bare feet. By which I mean, of course, that I was in bare feet, not the bee. Although, obviously, the bee was in bare feet as well. It's not like you're going to find a bee wearing football boots, or something, is it? Bit of an expensive footwear option, anyway, I would have thought. Six feet, you see, so you'd need three pairs. I wouldn't imagine there would be many places that cater for bees, in any case. I should think if you went into your local shoe shop and asked them if they had anything for a six-foot bee, you'd end up very disappointed. I mean a bee with six feet, not a bee that is six foot high, or anything like that. I suppose that if you turned up with a bee that large they'd see you coming and lock the doors. If would be no good you hammering on the glass and shouting 'This is Colin. Have you got three pairs of sandals in a size nine?'
Anyway, back to this bee. Or was it a wasp? Certainly, it seemed quite waspish. I don't mean that it was waspish in the sense that it was making cutting and cruel remarks. I didn't actually strike up a conversation with it. Don't go imagining that there was some sort of altercation that escalated to the point where the wasp finally flipped and vented its anger by stinging me. That didn't happen. No, I merely mean that it was waspish in the sense that it was, etymologically speaking, a wasp. Or do I mean entomologically? Both, I suppose.
Look, I think that a blanket assumption that all wasps are waspish (apt to make sharp, cruel remarks) solely by virtue of being waspish (like a wasp) is waspcist (prejudiced against wasps). Perhaps we can just agree on that.
Anyway, that's my bee story. Makes you think, doesn't it?
NEXT WEEK: The Spider, but I might stray onto the subject of umbrellas.
Taken from The University of the Bleeding Obvious Annual 2021
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