Eight or ten years ago, I attended an elaborate Sewing Expo. Why I did it remains a mystery, since I’ve never been particularly interested in sewing, unlike my sister who is an amazing fabric artist. You can check out her website at www.depressionvisible.com to see pictures of her art pieces that show what depression feels like. She REALLY knows how to sew.
While I was at the Expo, though, bewildered by all the sewing machines and patterns, I spotted a vendor with a long table filled with implements—more kinds of scissors than I could imagine. And tweezers.
I waited for two customers to step away before I motioned to the vendor to come help me. “I’m looking for a really good pair of tweezers,” I whispered across the display case. “I have this ...” I looked around to be sure I wouldn’t be overheard, “... this whisker on my chin.”
“You have a whisker?” he boomed out in a strident voice that carried far past the aisle I stood on. “I have some perfect tweezers for that!” He showed me a small plastic tube containing those perfect tweezers, then handed duplicates to the dozen or so women who had descended on us within seconds, drawn there by his exceedingly loud question.
“We all have them, honey,” the woman standing next to me said, as she shelled out the rather stiff purchase price to this brilliant salesman. I got in line behind six other customers.
So I was intrigued when I got to reading about the body hairs on bees. It seems that a sick bee will frequently lose all her fuzz. That’s when the other bees know it's time to toss her out of the hive. See? Whiskers on females serve a purpose.
Still – hand me those tweezers. I am not a bee.
BEEattitude for Day # 122:
Blessed are the fuzzy, for they are soft and we like them.
One thing Fran is grateful for right now:
Skype, so I can see my friends when I talk to them.