I’m on the cordless while putting away my laundry when I pick up the hamper near the window.
Me: Oh. My. God. There’s a giant dead bee on the floor! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Him: A what?
Me: A giant dead bee. It is the size of Zimbabwe.
Him: A B? Like the consonant?
Me: No, like “bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!” If something were flying around my bedroom stuttering, “B-b-b-b-b” do you think I’d be squealing like a fool?
Him: I think a flying H would be better. You’d feel the menace.
Me: I’d call Easy Reader to exterminate.
Him: So it’s a bee. Yellow and black?
Me: Who the hell knows? It’s gone tits-up!
Will someone please come over to my house, remove the dead bee from the premises and explain to me when I became such a pussy?