A Bee Story (Rather Humorous, I do say)

Last Autumn, I took a class on how to raise honey bees.  The class lasted about six weeks.  After the first couple of weeks, I told my husband, "I can't do this.  I won't be able to lift all this stuff and do all the things you have to do."  He very calmly and sweetly says, "You go take the class and I will help you."  So, I take the class.  I find out about someone in our community who raises bees and arrange for us to meet him.  He does not do things like the class teaches you, which is fine.  There is more than one way.  We order our bees from him.  Four "nucs", that is what a starter set of bees is called.  However, we don't get them until July, which is very late.  Whether it is because he made a mistake or didn't know what he was doing, I don't know.  So now we are trying to get the bees ready for winter.  Because it is so late in the season, we are having to feed the bees so they will make enough bees and honey for the winter.  One of the things I learned in class and from this beekeeper was to not ever do things with the bees in dark, fuzzy clothing, or on a cloudy (dark) day.  Remember that it will be important later.
The first time we go out to the bees in our cute and stylish bee suits, it is 100 degrees, I am taking pictures.  When I get tired, I get in the truck and wait for my husband who wore short pants (hint, hint) and dark black, fuzzy socks.  He gets in the truck, I say, "That went well for a first time I think."
He says, "All except for when I got stung."
"You got stung?! Where? How?"
"A bee flew up my pants leg."
"So what did you do?"
"I squished him.  When I squished, he stung."
"Why did you squish him?  You aren't supposed to kill the bees."
"Tracey, at that point, I had few options."
Several times he has been to feed the bees in black socks and short pants.  Guess what?  He gets stung almost every time.  You would think... well maybe not.
We are feeding the bees, it is time to feed them a pollen patty.  I had to make these from a recipe from our beekeeper friend.  They didn't come out quite like they should have, I don't think.  Every time I get ready to do something with the bees, my husband says, "That is not what so and so does," or "That is not how so and so said to do it."  Finally, I say, "Fine, you do it.  I am done."  (My healthy Irish heritage, sometimes gets the better of me.)
My husband has been taking care of the bees by himself ever since.
One evening after supper, he gets up and says, "I am going to feed the bees."
He takes forever.  My phone is dieing, so I get up to go plug it in, wondering where he is.  As I walk to the bedroom, I catch a glimpse of him in the garage.  He is bent over, breathing heavy, and shirtless.  He never goes with out his shirt.  I think... I hope he is okay... If he has a heart attack and dies I will kill him... he doesn't have nearly enough life insurance to support me.  (I didn't really think that at the time, but later. It just makes the story better.)  I open the door and say, "Are you alright?"
He says, "They were," panting "chasing me."
"Who was?"
"I think I lost them."  Heavy breathing, pant, pant
"Where is your shirt?"
"On the deck."  pant, pant  "I think I only got stung once."
"The bees were chasing you?  Really?"
"I think one was in my shirt."
Now understand the bees are not anywhere close to the house.  They are across the creek, and around the corner on the other side of the woods.  (I later learned that he ran even farther than straight to the house in order to lose the bees.  He ran past the gate, down to the orchard, then to the house.)
He ran all the way home, trying to lose the bees.  I guess he did manage to lose them.  Do you know what he was wearing... short pants; dark, black, fuzzy socks; and it was dusk (almost dark).  All big "no nos" when working with bees.
Will he ever learn?  See you next time on the same bee channel...