“Useless! Completely useless!” she screams at me. I flinch. There’s no need for that. Rather than lose my temper, I leave the room.
I can still hear her raised voice as I make my way upstairs. In her bedroom, the French doors open onto a small Juliet balcony. Voile curtains billow gently, scattered dots appearing from the Spring shower outside. I should get back home where I’m needed, but I hate the rain. I shouldn’t even be out but I still decide to wait it out vaguely aware of her lingering scent, luring me to stay.
“You still here!” her eyes flash as soon as she enters the room. “What do I have to do?” She glances around the room as if considering her options. Then it strikes me. She’s looking for something to hit me with! She grabs a shoe and flings it. That’s it.
Her face reacts almost immediately. A small red mark gives way to a blotchy surround. She rubs it with her hand.
“Why you little….” she hisses. She’s angry now. She picks up a nearby book.
Time to leave. “You useless specimen from a useless species!” she yells. “You can’t even make honey!” Her parting words as I fly through the double French doors make me smile. She’s right of course. I can’t. But unlike bees we queen wasps can survive many stings.