Here's a story about the last time there was a bee in my hair:
I was 10, and my brothers, mom and I were driving down the highway in the family minivan. My brother Tona, who was sitting behind me, tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Nona, don't freak out, but a bee is making a nest in your hair."
So I opened the sliding side door and tried to jump out of the van.
Luckily I had neglected to unbuckle my seatbelt, which choked me back as one of my legs dangled out of the car. I screamed, "I'm gonna jump!" and Tona screamed, "I told you not to freak out!" and our younger brother Devin just screamed and my mom screamed loudest, "Don't jump! Close the door! What is going on?! STOP THE INSANITY."
She swerved into a nearby parking lot and told me to get out of the van. I dove to the pavement and began rolling around as if I were on fire.
My mom's mood, meanwhile, had shifted from angry hysteria to stone faced placidity. She calmly exited the car and walked into a nearby video store.
Eventually I got back into my seat and waited for my mom to come back. She was in the store for a very long time. My brothers and I wondered if maybe she had slipped out the back door and abandoned us. Surely we'd pushed her too far this time.
Finally she emerged, struggling to carry a gigantic piece of cardboard. When she opened the sliding door we saw it was an elephant-shaped promotional poster for Operation Dumbo Drop.
"I just...I just think we need this," she said, putting it in my lap. And then, without another word, we drove home.
Maybe a cute bee bobby pin in my hair would work out better.
