Honkerbug

I have a black pullover top that has a smattering of Sun City required sparkles dusting across large watercolor poppies, which are being caressed by little bees. I know, it sound pretty lame but it’s really a very nice print and I wear it when I go to activities that involve interaction with other, similarly garbed Sun City ladies. Plus, my normal attire of scruffy blue jean cutoffs and a Margaritaville tee shirt isn’t exactly appropriate senior attire in certain social settings. Bill and I were headed out to a caregiver meeting, so I decided to wear it.

A few minutes before we had to leave, I was clearing away Mom’s breakfast refuse when she asked, “What’s that writing on your shirt?”

I glanced down at the upside-down cursive that was scribbled across my chest and tried to read what it said.

Honkerbug?” she asked, squinting at my chest. ‘Hunkybunk?”

“No,” I said. “It says… “

“Hennybet!” she exclaimed. “No wait, that can’t be right.”

“Honeybee,” I responded.

“What?” she said, craning her neck forward and squinting even harder. “Happybutt?”

“Honeybee, Mom, it says Honeybee.”

“Oh, okay. I guess that makes more sense.”

“More sense than what,” I replied as I walked toward the kitchen. “Honeybutt or Honkerbug?”

“Yes, those,” she answered, turning up the volume of the Price Is Right and settling in for a session with Drew and the gang. “That would probably be a different picture on your shirt.”

bee



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