Once upon a time there was a baby bumblebee named Billy and a knish. The knish was just your standard square shaped fried potato knish with no names. Knishes don't have names, silly.
Anyway, one warm sunny July afternoon with barely a cumulus cloud in the sky,Billy, as yet a hymenoptera (bee) fledgling,was an inexperienced flyer and new to the ways of the world,especially around people. It was on this bright lovely afternoon in search of some mellifluous flowers that Billy was flying across a patio in someone's backyard having a barbecue. Methinks you suspect something bad is going to happen to Billy. This is a happy story. Don't worry.
Billy could sense some sweet aromas and fragrances unlike any rose or lilac or zinnia or any flower he had visited before. Perhaps it was the honey barbecue sauce or macaroni or potato salad. Maybe it was a hot dog or hamburger oozing with meaty juices on the grill. As Billy's inquisitive and curious mind abuzz with thoughts of nectar had him flying near the grill: SMASH. !!!!
The next thing Billy knew was he was lying with his tiny proboscis down in some soft yellowish substance. He had no idea that he had been struck with a fly swatter and hurled right into a sliced open knish warming up on the grill on a piece of aluminum foil. The knish felt so cuddly and cozy .
But Billy was unable to move. Oh my !!! His abdomen and thorax felt very sore in need for some Ben Gay or Icy Hot liniment .His wings did not work and his Lilliputian sized stinger and feet felt all mushed and squooshed. The knish felt so comfy and warm but at the same time getting hotter every second.
Suddenly a big flat metal thing scooped up Billy and his protective knish and the aluminum foil and the next thing Billy knew he was falling into a plastic bag filled with dirty cups and paper plates covered in ketchup and mustard and barbecue sauce and coleslaw and food scraps that were disgusting. Billy didn't know it but the knish was going to be his deathbed inside a pile of garbage. The End. Ok, I lied. It wasn't a happy ending.
There is no moral to this story but perhaps we can take solace and find comfort in these 2 proverbs:
"A swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay. But a swarm in July is not worth a fly." and Marcus Aurelius nailed it when he said " That which is not good for the bee-hive cannot be good for the bees. "