At this point, I need to apologise. When I took my review to my Editor, he looked at it and, having read the magazine article, said, “No way. In case you weren’t aware, this is a FAMILY newspaper. Larvae learn to read using our paper. Do you think for one minute I’d actually allow you to expose our smallest Hive-members to a discussion about this film?”
“Well, yeah,” I said.
“Wrong. And this won’t do.”

After a bit of buzzing back and forth, my Editor said,
“Fine. I will allow you to post the graphics of your review, but that’s IT. You may not discuss this motion picture in your column, nor may you share your deep and usually highly valuable insights about it in any way, shape, or form - except for the graphics. If we had time to publish something else, we would. Unfortunately, you’ve put us in a very bad position here.”

“Thank you,” I thanked him.
“Get out of my office,” he said.

So I did that.

Anyway - here’s my review for this week! I hope you like it!

See ya’ on Monday! Probably.

Our first (and last) stop was to the Drone's Wearhouse . When we first got there, I told a sales guy with greasy fuzz that I was looking for puce formal wear. I also told him that, last year, my tuxedo was way too tight, so that I needed something a bit more roomy. And that it had to bee puce.

He looked at me kinda' funny, then said, "Excuse me. I'll hafta check in the back. In the meantime, please enjoy these Complimentary Nectarinis which will help you enjoy your shopping experience with us." He gave us each one, then disappeared.

After about ten minutes, he came back, carrying a very large garment bag that had a large tag on it that said, "DONATE". Of course, I got all excited to think that I was gonna get my Honey Ball attire for free, probably. (I didn't. They were planning to donate it to the Hive's Charity for the Chronically Underdressed. In fact, they were just about to send it away just beefore we got there. I started thinking that maybee we should have gone shopping later in the day.)

When he opened the bag, both Gee Gee and I were delighted to see that the tuxedo jacket was, indeed, puce. Then I tried it on.

Oh geeeeeze. That thing was WAY too big.

"Dear?" Great Grandma Gee Gee said to the sales guy with the greasy fuzz, "this seems a bit roomy for my great grandson. Might you have something that fits him a bit better?"
"No, Ma'am," the guy told her. "This is the one and only puce ensemble we have in stock."
"But it looks way too big," I chimed in. "You don't have anything else in puce?"
"No," the sales guy with the greasy fuzz said.
"But, I can barely move in this. I think you could fit two of me in this thing."

That's when the sales guy (who, by the way, was wearing a suit that fit perfectly) kinda stammered a bit, then he said, "Uhm, yes, sir. And I can see you have a highly sharp, well-trained eye for high fashion. You're right that it seems large, but that's the current trend in fashion for truly well-dressed bees now. We used to think that a good fit - even perhaps a tighter fit - was the way to go, but this season, a looser, more excessively roomy fit is all the rage. Then he told me to just wear it for a minute to get the feel of the thing.


So I did that.

Oh geeeeeeeeze. The tuxedo was so huge and heavy that I could barely lift my wings.

I was just about to say, "I really dunno about this," when the sales guy with the greasy fuzz clapped his wings together as if he'd just won the lottery or something and told me I looked absolutely divine. That's the word he used, "divine". Gee Gee just kinda stood there, staring at me, then she said, "I need another Complimentary Nectarini. Immediately. Maybee two- one more for here and one to go, please."

The sales guy with the greasy fuzz said, "As you please, Madam,", then left to go get those for her. (I figured that meant she felt like celebrating the fact that we'd actually been able to find puce attire for the Honey Ball. It turns out that's not why she asked for another Complimentary Nectarini.)

While he was gone, Gee Gee said, "That IS way too big for you, Georgie. But don't worry, Dear. After we get this home, I can take it in for you. By the time I'm finished, it will fit perfectly. Probably."

So, the sales guy with the greasy fuzz finally came back carrying Gee Gee's Nectarinis (one for there and one in a cup with a lid on it that she could take home with her), then he propped the mirror up just right so I could see myself at an unnatural and highly deceptive angle. I was starting to sweat - a lot - and felt my knees starting to buckle under the weight. Just as I was about to say, "I don't think so," Gee said (she was kinda slurring at this point), "Fine. That will do nicely. We'll take it. Please have it delivered, will you?"
"Of course, Madam. Your slightest wish is my command."

I was kinda surprised she said that, but whatever. I kept trying to tell her that I just didn't think it was the best selection, but she just smiled, rubbed my back and told me everything would bee okay. That felt very comforting.

On the way home, Gee Gee said, "You worry too much, Dear. You know you had to find something in puce, so sometimes you just need to make honey out of lemon juice. Here, have a cookie. That will help you relax."

So I did that. And it did.

Anyway, today, Great Grandma Gee is gonna spend the afternoon doing alterations for me - right after I finish writing my movie review for tomorrow. This week, I'm reviewing the film, "Lolita", taken from the magazine of the same name.

Have I mentioned how lucky I feel to have my Great Grandma Gee Gee here? Well, I do. She's the best.

Okay then. The delivery guys just dropped off the tuxedo, so Gee Gee wants to get started on the alterations. She says it's gonna take awhile.

I hope everybody has a unusually festive day! I'll see ya' later!

Tune in tomorrow, when Georgie reviews the film, "Lolita"!