The Birds and the Bees

This year for vacation, Tim and I went to Hawaii. The island, the people, the beaches, I loved. The birds and the bees I could have done without.

First of all, there are like seven hundred million of those tiny, little sparrows per square inch, and they all want whatever you are eating. Since most of the restaurants there tend to be "open air", mealtime is like being an extra in a Hitchcock movie.

One of the first nights there, we noticed a mist being sprayed every couple of minutes from the trees above the restaurant. A cooling water vapor to help customers beat the heat? Nope. Insect spray to protect from mosquito bites? Uh uh. Grapeseed extract to keep the birds away. Who knew that birds hated grapes? Not the birds.

Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell them that they were supposed to be repelled by it because they pretty much soared right through the spray and flocked to the restaurant like K-Mart shoppers to a blue light special on toilet paper in aisle three.

From our first morning at breakfast where we decided to have the buffet, we had to guard every morsel that we put in out mouths from the birds. Leaving our unattended coffee on the table, we wandered off to graze. Fresh pineapple? Pineapple danish? Pineapple juice? Maybe the papaya or hey, pineapple/papaya juice? Decisions, decisions.

Returning to the table, we were greeted by fifteen dozen birds or so literally lining the table and chairs all eagerly peeping and craning their little birdy necks to see what yummy treat we had brought for them. While Tim grabbed his napkin and charged the table like a marine hitting the beach at Normandy, I anxiously peered into my coffee cup, hoping none of the little rascals had decided to use it as a hot tub, while simultaneously wondering if bird poop sinks or floats.

The following mornings, Tim kept requesting a table "in the back away from the birds." Yeah. Because the invisible force field running through the middle of the restaurant guaranteed they couldn't get past the first few rows of tables. Right.

I believe it was the third day where one persistent little fellow landed at our table and hopped over to me with a definite, "you gonna finish that muffin?" gleam in his eye.

Tim waved his Wall Street Journal at him. He flipped Tim off. Tim stood up and shook his napkin at him. The bird rose in the air, circled the table once, landed in exactly the same spot and favored Tim with a "Oh please. Did you think you could get rid of me that easily?" look.
Tim grabbed the newspaper again, and made a few matador-like moves before jabbing it at the bird like a sword. My hero. The bird laughed and edged closer to my plate.

Before Tim could go all Don Quixote on him though, the people next to us left, abandoning an entire half of a cinnamon roll which must have looked better than my muffin, or at least been easier pickings. I swear, though, that as I saw him rise into the air, he extended the middle toe of his foot toward Tim.

All in all, birds are so much cuter when they are animated and helping some mice make a ball gown.

As bad as they were though, they were nothing compared to the bees. They are definitely cuter when they are animated, not to mention a lot less painful.

About halfway through our trip, we had dinner at a romantic, candlelit restaurant on a beautiful, private beach overlooking the ocean. It was perfect, and I'm sure I would have really enjoyed it had I not spent a good portion of the time in too much pain to care about such trivial things as moonlight and roses.

Arriving early, we were escorted to the bar to wait for our table. No sooner had we sat down then I felt a little prickle on my back. Thinking it was the elastic gather from my dress, I reached back and gave it a tug only to feel a BIG prickle.

"I think I've been stung," I gasped to Tim.

"What? Where?" He could see nothing on the back of my dress.

The line of fire moving down my side convinced me I was right, and I headed for the nearest restroom. Fortunately, there only seemed to be one other person in a stall, so I eased the one side of my dress down to see and angry red mark with a wicked-looking stinger protruding from its center. So much for romance.

As I stood there trying in vain to reach it, the bee plopped out of my top and into the sink. I'm sure the older woman coming out of the stall was a bit disconcerted to find a half-dressed woman leaning over the sink yelling, "Die, you miserable cur! Die!", but all she said was, "You should get some Benadryl" before tottering off.

Well, and thanks for all your help. No, no. Don't worry about the stinger the size of a harpoon sticking out of my back, pumping poison through my system. Clearly, your third martini is calling you. I'll be fine.

Clutching my back which was now swelling up like the Elephant Man, I stumbled back out to the bar and begged Tim to order me a really large drink, because I was so not having him pull out the stinger without some anesthesia. The bartender offered to let us use the manager's office for the operation and gave us some gel to rub on the spot. I would rather had been offered a second martini.

It was the birds though that got the last laugh. On our final night there, we had dinner at a charming little restaurant in yet another beautiful, romantic setting. Afterwards, we strolled onto a bridge overlooking a koi pond and watched the fish lazily swim back and forth.

"Look," Tim said, "there's a perfect spider web stretching across the pond, glistening."

"Where?" I strained to see it (although why either one of us thought I wanted to see a giant spider web I'm still puzzling out.)

"Right there," He pointed.

Unable to see it from where I was standing, I crossed to the opposite side of him, leaned forward over the railing, and put my hands down in a nice, fresh pile of bird poop!

Yeah. Gotta love those birds and bees.