It's Wednesday, probably, and time for the next part in Georgie's story . . .
I think we all know what day it is, don’t we?
Okay, maybee not everybody knows what day it is, especially if they lost their calendar - or they’re using one from five years ago. (If that’s what they’re doing, they probably think this is Saturday. It’s not. It’s Wednesday.)
Still, I think we all know that it’s time for me to share yet another part of my dazzlingly intricate and marginally unforgettable story, “The Bee Who Knew Too Much” . . .
9
"Excuthe me," I could only think to say, "can I have thomething to thip on? I haven't had thomething to thip on in dayth and it really hard to talk with thith...cak..dy mouth."
It seemed to me as if my interrogator, whom I now knew to bee Jasmine - and evidently the same Jasmine in that novel I wrote last Cold Season - wasn't about to give me a sip of anything until I talked.
Beelieve me when I say that I wanted to talk. But, I was so incredibly thirsty and my mouth was so dry that I could barely get a word out.
Talk about frustrating.
"That depends. Can you?" she said, coyly. "Can you tell me who you reallly are, and how you came into possession of the information you very foolishly revealed in your quaint, but dangerously gripping, novel?"
The only thing I managed to get out was a muffled “Ggthay..." sound (my mouth was that dry).
"Gtheorthie," I tried to speak again.
"Excuse me?" Jasmine said. "Did you say something?"
"Gtheorthie," I repeated. "Gtheorthie Bee. Thath my name."
"I think we've already established that," she said with a wry tone of buzz. "What I want to know is: what is your true identity? Surely, it is not the somewhat naive, unlucky, but industrious bee you portray yourself to bee to the rest of the world. No, the revelations in your ill-advised attempt to write Romantic Mystery stories informs us that you are much more than you pretend to bee. Now, WHO ARE YOU?"
Jasmine sounded highly angry. And I felt incredibly confused. And thirsty.
Thinking as quickly as I could, I opened my mouth as much as I could and tried to speak again.
(to bee continued)
. . .
Okay then.
Tomorrow, I hafta go to the Royal Court to fight the ticket I got yesterday for Endangering Public Safety. It turns out that Bert’s Ice Removal Attachment didn’t particularly work all that well, so there’s still a bunch of ice on the boot box door step.
Anyway, that’s gonna take all day, they say. I hope I win -
and that they give me some bathroom breaks.
I also hope everybody has an unrealistically fabulous day!
I’ll see ya’ later!