When my grandma was in her later years, she bequeathed one of her most prized possessions to me…her bee story. She told me I have the right (and duty) to carry on this most precious story. However, it won’t be quite as funny until I’m an old lady.
When dinner was winding down, sometimes Grandma would call everyone together to listen to her story. She would say, “I was walking through the garden one day and a little bee landed on my finger. As I stood watching the bee, I thought, ‘What a pretty, little bee. Maybe it is a mother bee. Maybe she has tiny baby bees at home waiting for her.
And as I was thinking all those pure thoughts,
The damn thing stung me.'”
(If anyone can remember a more accurate rendition of this story, please tell me!)
Sally Stratford 