The saga of Amy and the Bee ...
So now that I knew it wasn't my imagination but a huge bee, I beat a strategic (you can read that as hasty and the scream was only an attempt to scare it) retreat and returned armed with a small phone book and a bottle of Febreeze (give me a break - I didn't have any bug spray).
However, fortune favors the brave - and also apparently those armed with a phone book and Febreeze because when I returned, I found the bee was dazed and slowing. I put the phone book on the floor and waited. Now, waiting for a dazed bee to climb on a small phone book is akin to watching the proverbial pot of water until it boils. Not one to waste time, I carefully started the washer and dryer while waiting. In case you were wondering, shouting "hurry up" at a bee has absolutely no effect.
It finally climbed onto the book, and I covered it with a plastic cup and was able to relocate the bee to the projects (or outside, if you prefer).
A short time later, my husband calls to ask how my day is going. "Fine," I tell him. "I even got the bee out of the basement." I proceeded to tell him about the whole relocation project - okay, I may have left out the part about the Febreeze, but anyway you know what his response is? He asks, "Well, what kind of bee was it?"
What am I? An entomologist? Now, if you don't have an Asperger's-like Obsessive compulsive disorder, you might not appreciate this, or you might think I'm crazy - actually I might be, but anyway where was I? Oh yeah. What kind of bee was it? His suggestion that I "hit it with a rock" so he could identify it later got the cogs and wheels of my crazy going. By the time I hung the phone up, I'd become convinced that I had just set an Africanized - killer bee loose in my neighborhood. So, I now have to go outside (cursing myself for bringing Mr. Bee out front where all the neighbors could see my madness) and find the bee ... in the grass ... I did - which probably just tells you how deeply disturbed I am - and take several photographs of him - with me walking a careful line between getting close enough to see detail, but not close enough to get stung.
I then spent the next half hour online looking at skin-crawling insect recognition sites in order to identify the bee. Thankfully, I can now say with certainty that it was a Common Eastern Bumble Bee, although let's face it, after what it put me through, this bee was far from common.
I went back outside only to realize that I could not proceed with my plan to mow the lawn because Mr. Bee was still there and I'd be damned if my whole morning's struggle was going to be for naught. So, instead I went to Home Depot and bought mulch.
There I am happily mulching away when I hear this buzzing ...