Laughter truly is the best medicine. In my darkest days or even the darkest times of my life, a simple laugh could make me forget about all those pesky little seeds of doubt, insecurity, and regret that plague my existence on a daily basis. Whether visibly etched on my freckled face or found creeping in red waves up my neck and cheeks, those seeds fight and stretch to catch a glimmer of sunlight in this dark, dark world. Over the past two weeks, I’ve caught myself laughing without a care in the world, forgetting the possible judgments of others, just living my best life. It has been such a relief to just let go and bury the seeds even deeper into the darkest soil of my soul.

One particular instance steals the show this time around because even though it involved insects, and at this point, all of you faithful readers should know where I stand with the insect community, it still made me crack up in a laughter I had forgotten about.

Just the other day during another long shift, I happened to find myself in the break room, overly excited for an impromptu date with my Kindle. I’ve been on a reading high lately, and I cannot seem to get enough of it. I skipped through the threshold, created my time punch with a flourish, and made a beeline for my locker. I grabbed my Kindle and reached up for my lunchbox only to find my dainty fingers dangerously close to a bee the size of an uncracked walnut. I screeched a little, I’m not going to lie. Mind you, one of my managers was sitting across the room, fully immersed in something on her phone. (This will become an important detail later in the story).

It looked like I was going to have to fend for myself. Typically, I would have looked to another individual in the room, hoping that he or she would get the hint that I am not the best option for capturing an insect for release. The reason being that ten times out of ten, I kill them because it appears that they are trying to harm me. These bees duck and swerve with an astonishing resilience, making it even more difficult for me to remain calm in these stressful encounters. I’m convinced the insects are out to get me. The other reason that proves my inability to act like a relatively normal human in situations where insects of any kind are involved is as follows.

The bee was merely sitting on my lunchbox, right on the handle. I stood for a solid minute debating a proper course of action, or at least one that would minimize my embarrassment. Eventually, I decided that I needed to stun the bee so that it would not be tempted to attack my face. I carefully took my giant purse out of my locker and carried it to the nearest chair, never taking my eye off the bee. The problem with having a tote for a purse is that it took me an anxious minute to rummage through all the junk until I found my travel-sized hairspray. Once my fingers met the cool metal container, I knew this battle would be over soon.

I gripped the miniature bottle and prepared to make a sneak attack. Once I was close enough to the bee, I yanked on the cap preparing to fire, except as luck would have it, the cap wouldn’t budge. Again, I would like to remind everyone that one of my managers witnessed this scene unfolding, whether she was fully tuned into the action or not. I must have looked calm, cool, and collected as sweat dripped down my forehead straight through my carefully filled in eyebrows.

Finally, the cap came off, and I unloaded a generous amount of tacky hairspray onto the waiting bee. As soon as the aerosol mist met the furry thorax, his wings went mad; it sounded as if a toy helicopter were flying around the room. Slowly, the bee turned to face his attacker, and I swear he looked me dead in the eyes. At that point, I decided it was time to escalate the battle, so I fervently tossed my lunch box onto the ground. The bee fell off the handle and began frantically crawling on the floor, wings still a flutter. I won’t share the gory details of what occurred next, but let’s just say that the bee is in a better place.

After I cleaned up the aftermath, I turned around expecting to see an amused look on my manager’s face. Instead, I noticed that she had not moved a muscle and was still engrossed in whatever entertainment her phone provided.

Needless, to say, I’m glad she did not consciously witness how I made a fool of myself that day, and it made me laugh knowing that most times, nobody is watching. It’s okay to act a fool sometimes, or most times when it comes to my crazy life. As long as I have my morning coffee, everything else becomes merely a memory in the never-ending Rolodex of instances that I can look back on and heartily chuckle. It’s important to remember that the bee never stings twice, unless you’re me, than you better believe that bee is trying to come back for round two. Don’t worry; I’ll be ready with caffeine flowing through my veins and hairspray flowing onto the waiting victim.