Partly Cloudy, 64°
Brenda, my sweet. Look at you. Sun glistening off your forehead, eyes shining like a beacon in the night. Mark my words Brenda: I love you more than you could ever know. I cherish you like the sweetest fruit. And I wish I could do something about the bees. I really do.
The colonies of swarming bees that surround and invade our peaceful fishing village most days of the week are more than just a nuisance. They are a way of life. In fact, I cannot even bring myself to imagine a world in which our courtship could take place without the constant buzzing of militant bees for fear of growing too attached to that fantasy world and killing myself. But I digress.
Rest assured, I don’t love you any less on account of the bees. I know that your father was the first man to import bees to this island in the interest of pollinating the region’s many indigenous flowers, but that doesn’t mean I blame you. I blame your father. Who isn’t you.
But really, he should have known better. Importing truckloads of bees without even an inkling of a contingency plan for maintaining their population? Abysmal planning. I understand that he doesn’t want us to be together Brenda. He can’t stand the idea of his daughter becoming romantically involved with one of the foremost critics of his bee importation plan. But let him scoff. I love you just the same. I love you just as much as I hate that my old friend Dr. Norberto had to perish in a bee hellstorm while trying to unleash his own original blend of bee poison.
But damn it all, Brenda, if I wouldn’t give it all up to be your one true love. My home. My job. My high-tech, bee-proof helmet with adjustable earflaps and a swivel-top camera for added bee surveillance. All of it, Brenda. All I ask is that you trust me. I’ve never felt such devotion, such dedication to one person. And I wish I didn’t have to vow to protect you from an onslaught of vicious bees, but I do have to make that vow.
I know your allergy prevents you from getting within five feet of the toxin that the common bee carries on its protruding stinger. I know that you now have to reside in a bee-proof vacuum-sealed chamber. You’d think your father would have known this would happen. I’d love to take you away, far away from here, so we wouldn’t have to worry anymore. But I know that’s impossible; the ever-present bee cloud that surrounds our homeland is impenetrable for planes, and for that I am sorry. It must be especially terrible for you to live here. However, the fact remains that I need you. I need your touch, your caress. You are absolutely perfect, and if we could be together, I wouldn’t change a thing. Except I would get rid of the bees. My God, would I ever get rid of the goddamn bees.
