The best and the worst come together in Times Square

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Did you hear about the massive swarm of bees that descended upon Times Square earlier this week?

From the New York Times:

"Thousands of bees swarmed part of Times Square on Tuesday afternoon, sending tourists and passers-by scrambling before the bees settled on the cart of a very unhappy hot-dog vendor at 43rd Street and Broadway.

The mass of insects was so dense it weighed down sections of the stand’s umbrella. 

The incident lasted all of an hour before the New York Police Department’s own beekeeping team vacuumed up the horde of honeybees and took them safely to a new location." 

This story struck a particular chord with me.

I'm allergic to bees. They kill me dead if they sting me.

But hot dogs are my second favorite food item in the world, and one of my favorite things overall.

Bees and hot dogs. Friend and foe collide. A bizarre, incomprehensible combination of my favorite and least favorite things. 

It almost feels as if the universe is winking at me. Or threatening me. 

More ways to die

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I’m allergic to bees. They have killed me once already.

As a result, I avoid them at all costs. Sometimes people will tell me to sit still and relax when a bee is flying around me. “If you don’t bother it, it won’t sting you.”

First, I was not bothering the bee that killed me. I was minding my own business when it stung me and caused my respiration and heart to stop, so that argument is stupid. 

Second, I’d like to see you try to sit still and relax when someone is waving a gun in your face, because that is what it is like to have a bee flying around mine. Bees are like bullets to me. Both can kill.

Apparently bees don’t have to sting me in order to kill me. My exceptionally sincere or incredibly cruel friend sent me this CNN story about a man who fell off a cliff and died after being chased by bees.

Not only do I have to worry about the bee’s venom, but now I have to worry about where the bee might chase me.