My Hero, The Bee Killer

My hubs is great at lots of things. He has single handedly built a basement recreation room in this old house. He is completely remodeling our out of date kitchen. He is a mean poker player, an intense coach, and a playful daddy. What can I say? The man wears many hats.

But, exterminator is not one of them.

Several summers ago, hubs and I noticed that there were an abnormal number of bees swarming around our front yard. At first, I thought it was due to my fabulous gardening skills, but when I realized that the only two flowering plants that I had planted were, in fact, dead, I knew that something was up. (I'm smart like that!) Anyway, when hubby located a bee's nest in the ground close to our front door, the war was on.

So, one afternoon, while I was parked in the rocking chair in the living room with a heavily sleeping infant on my lap, hubby decided to take care of the problem. I remember thinking, "This is the life. A sleeping baby. A peaceful day. A working husband. What could be better?" When I gazed out my living room window, my bubble was instantly burst.

Hubs was outside in his normal yard work garb. In his hand was a large, red gas can. It looked like the gas can that you would use to put a few gallons in your car if you ran out of gas. Yes, that one. I watched as he systematically walked that gas can over to the bee's nest and then unscrewed the cap. He lifted the can with both hands, and then, he began to pour it directly into the bee's hole.

"Wow," I thought. "I didn't realize that you could poison bees with gasoline. Hubs is so smart!"

But my man didn't just stop at an average gasoline poisoning. Nope. He just poured and poured until all of that gas in the can was almost gone. I giggled a bit at his tendency to overdo it, but, hey, at least the bees would be bye- bye. When he was done, he gathered his materials and then he disappeared around the back of the house.

As I rocked and mentally patted myself on the back for catching such a smart hubs, I watched as he emerged from the backyard. He slowly walked over to the bee hole. I assumed, naturally, that he was inspecting his extermination skills.

He was not.

Instead, hubby peeked down the hole, stood back up, reached into his back pocket and and took out a match.

Yes, it was then that I realized that hubs planned to BBQ the bees. The only problem was that I had just watched him pour at least 3 gallons of gas in their nest. This was obviously, not. a. good. plan.

Duh!

I leaped up from the rocker and ran to the front door. I hurled it open, and yelled at the top of my lungs," Honey! Nooooooooo!"

But it was too late. The match was lit and it was cartwheeling from hubby's hand to the ground below. That 3 foot fall seemed like it took forever, but when that match hit that nest, the explosion was instantaneous.

A pillar of fire roared from the ground to well above hubby's head. It was about a foot in diameter and at least 7 feet high. It looked like there was a homecoming bonfire in my front yard.

I was horrified.

But, when I looked over at hubs, I noticed he was standing with his arms across his chest. His head was held high, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Paul! We need to call the fire department!" I screeched.

He just laughed and said, "C'mon Annie. Relax. We don't need the fire department. I'll go get the hose in a minute."

"A minute?" I thought in a panic. Did this man not see that our yard was in flames? Did he not watch the Smokey the Bear commercials of our youth? What was wrong with him???

Sensing my urge to call the authorities, hubby shook his head, trotted off to the side of the house and emerged with the hose. He took his time, but eventually, he started to douse the fire and slowly, I began to relax.

When there were only embers left, I could contain myself no more. "What were you thinking?" I yelled. ""You must have poured 3 gallons of gas on that hive. You could have killed yourself!" I was really just warming up, but he stopped me.

"Annie. You are missing the point," he said calmly.

"Ok," I conceded. "So what is the point?"

"The bees. They're dead! Isn't that great!" It was if he was a caveman and was boasting about his kill. He could have just as easily said, "Me caveman. Me make fire. Me kill bees," all the while grunting and scratching. I wouldn't have looked at him with any more disbelief.

"Yes. You certainly killed the bees. They are dead, really dead. They are as dead as they could possibly be." The sarcasm dripped from my words, but hubs was too proud to notice.

"I know. Wasn't it great?"

Men.

You gotta love 'em.

****I am linking this to Travis' Memoir Monday. He is over at I Like to Fish and he is a stinking riot! I would bet that he would have probably poured 5 gallons of gasoline on his bee hive. Just sayin'.