kill aria

Hubby likes to make sure that he gets really natural foods. We used to get our honey from the markets and a little stall complete with a woman wearing a bee costume, with black and yellow signage and a declaration signed by some 1000 bees, authenticating that they have picked her picture out of a 12 face line-up as the woman who had indeed, stolen their honey. She had bandages all over her body with penned wording and arrows stating “bee stings.” Of course, there could have been nothing under the bandaids but the visual was pretty impactful. This was a woman who almost died trying to bring us authentic , natural honey. She also had pollen hanging from the end of her nose. Again, no-one scientifically PROVED it was pollen … but we all hoped. When a whole community closes its eyes tight and pretends not to see something or agrees it is something else, it pretty much is. It is called mass imagining and I am pretty sure that it is the explanation behind why anyone thought it was a good idea to vote Tony Abbott in as Prime Minister. I have to believe that or else I have to go kill myself.

The bee woman swore her honey was raw and natural.

I tend to believe anyone who swears.

I bought her Kool-Aid. I totally was into it. And I enjoyed her honey. I figured we were pretty much good on the honey front. We had nailed it. We mastered the honey problem. We were getting healthy and strong. I had a few hairs growing on my chest that weren’t there before and I refused to believe it had anything to do with the high power wires that they recently built over our house.

Then hubby saw a sign on a little fruit and veg, mom and pop stand that said “100% natural honey.” He was drawn to it because it was open 6 days a week as opposed to the one day each weekend for a few hours, when the markets were on. Apparently it was a real inconvenience to have to go on a weekend, that one time a year when the 12,000 gallon drum of honey he bought there last year ran out. He had to check it out.

I should have known better than to allow him to attend a fruit and veg store unattended.

He came home with new honey that he was very impressed with. He set it up on the bench top. It was a bucket identical to the one we had always bought. I was curious as to how he even knew it was better than the other stuff being as the seal had not yet been broken so he couldn’t have tasted. What if raw, natural, real honey tasted like poo? What if it ended up not being all he wanted?

It was.

All he wanted …. and more . . .

It had dead bees floating in.

He was thrilled.

Who knew.  Dead bees and other floaty debris is evidently rock solid proof that something is raw and natural.  No-one had even strained it.  This, of course, meant that it would be the best honey ever and whatever honey is supposed to do for you, was going to happen.  He was going to suddenly be able to speak 8 languages, maybe learn how to read directions, or levitate or something.

I am already perfect and levitate regularly so it would be wasted on me. We were not buying raw honey for my benefit. Let’s not be ridiculous. I just like some on my toast now and then. I don’t think you are allowed to have your sweet and sugary toast condiments be the secret Himalayan health bonanzarama. I was not buying the whole benefits of raw honey shtick. It has to contain some kind of Yak blood, tree bark, and bitter snot from freeze dried frogs that have been eaten and pooped out by some feral cat . . . to be REAL health food.

He wanted me to taste it.

I made him pick out the bees on account of my not wanting to pick them out of my teeth later on, and I reluctantly touched my tongue to the spoon he offered me. I don’t do honey without toast soldiers. It was the ultimate sacrifice on my part.

A few minutes later my ears, nose, throat and eyes were on fire and I was coughing. My throat felt a little constricted and I was reminded of one small detail that I had apparently forgotten. I am allergic to bees. Even just errant bee arms floating in honey … evidently. And then I was reminded that since I had moved to Australia, 11 years ago, I had neglected to get a new Epi pen. And then I was reminded that I was probably dying and had maybe 3.4 seconds to do something.

Since intubating with makeshift bendy straws or a piece of hose that some dog had left on the patio during the night was out I had to think fast.

You can swear a lot in 3.4 seconds. And I would just like to point out that all those nights spent chugging beer at the old canal, did NOT go to waste. THAT talent may have saved my life. I chugged that Benadryl like a pro, despite the years. Not a single intricate skill had been lost.

I lived.

I should mention as my life passed before my eyes that I was reminded of some of the really crappy things some of you have done to me and some of you may find yourself deleted off my Facebook. And why the hell didn’t someone tell me how fat my ass looked in that orange outfit I liked to wear???

As for that honey, I will watch my hubby eating his honey and bee limbs, from behind a safety barrier. I will shop for myself. I will avoid the natural, healthy section because I need to live. I prefer lying naturalists with fake natural honey. Besides, I liked that the other lady cared enough to dress up. She may not be a real bee or provided real honey but she is as close as I can probably get to one. It makes me feel normal. Handicapped people like me live for those few tender moments when we can just be like everyone else.

I think it is rude that my husband kind of snorted his coffee and almost choked when I just typed that.

I told him to go eat his bees knees and leave me alone. I almost died for crying out loud.

 

Hubby suggested that I should probably try to find out what exactly I am allergic to. Pffft .. Ya like I can see that … “here try a bee leg and see if you die. Nothing? Ok how about a hunk of pollen? Nope, that seems fine. OK try the honey now that I have strained it. Yup that’s it. The honey killed you. Honey? Honey? OMG!!! “

No-one weeps when the lab rat dies.  People will weep when I am gone.

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