A Little Fiction – Five Minutes in the Car

“…So, do you think that bees know that they’re going to die when they sting you?”
“I don’t think that a bee knows anything.  A bee just is.  A tiny tangle of neurons with honey-making facilities at one end and munitions at the other.  They are driven purely by instinct – like a man at a free bar.”
“If they did know they were going to die, would they still sting you?”
“But they don’t.”
“So, there they are, settling nicely on your nose when they decide they might just give you a bit of a dig and they never, not for one second, think to themselves, ‘Actually, this might not end well for me.’  Nothing inside of them says, ‘Hang on, if I do this, much of what I currently have inside of me will then be on the outside of me, and wearing internal organs externally is never a good thing.’?”
“I don’t think a bee is quite that rational, no.”
“We had a swarm of bees in our garden once.  The sky was black with them and the noise was horrendous, but when they settled they formed a ball about the size of a football.  It was nice, kind of sleepy, just a gentle buzz to it and a few little stragglers flying lazily around it – until I went just one step too close.  Then the whole thing got angry.  The buzz became irritated.  It throbbed.  It was a clear threat: ‘just one step closer!’  So I stepped back and suddenly the whole thing became calm again.  It was definitely thought through.”
“I think it’s just instinct isn’t it?  A reaction to perceived threat.  There’s nothing they can do to affect it.”
“It’s a bit of a stark life though, isn’t it, being a worker bee?  Up at the crack of dawn, flying from plant to plant collecting nectar to feed the young; mind that hornet; dodge the man with the folded-up newspaper, knowing – or, if you’re to be believed, not knowing – that if you wanted to sting the annoying little kid with the cricket bat, it would be the last thing you ever did.”
“Well, it’s not something that you would ever have to worry about, is it?  All the worker bees are female.  The male bees are called drones because they are boring, energy-sapping users who exist solely for the opportunity to mate the minute the virgin queen drops her guard.  They are useless wastrels who sit around doing nothing all day and get fanned and fed by the females for their trouble.  They don’t even have a sting in their tails.  Remind you of anyone?”
“Well, it seems to me that if these drones just lounge about the hive all day being fed and watered before popping out every now and then for a bit of nooky with royalty, maybe they’re the ones with brains.”
“Well, it’s not all beer and skittles.  It’s a single-use penis, I’m afraid.  A couple of seconds of frustration for the queen and then the drone dies.  I suppose it saves him having to help raise the kids.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I like insects.  It’s why I married you.”
“You have to feel sorry for male insects, don’t you?”
“Do you?”
“Yes, like those spiders: one chance to mate and then straight away afterwards the female eats him.  It’s not very romantic is it?”
“Romantic?  It’s life isn’t it.  You forget that males are here for only that one single function.  If you didn’t contain sperm, we’d have no use for you whatsoever.”
“Oh yes, so who’d open your jars?”
“I’m sure there’s a gadget for it.”
“What about checking your tyre pressures, your oil level?  What about topping up your windscreen washer fluid?”
“Gadgets for all of those, I’m sure.”
“Ok then, what about a woman’s other needs?”
“Oh, there’s definitely a gadget for those…”
“You say that, but can you actually imagine a world without men?  …Well?”
“I’m sorry, I was just imagining…”
“There are loads of things that women can’t do you know.”
“Really?  Outside of getting women pregnant and peeing standing up, what might they be?”
“When did you last clean out the pond pump?  When did you empty a mouse trap or de-worm the cat?”
“Choosing not to do things is not the same as not being able to do them.  I choose not to fart at the dinner table, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t do it.”
“Well, even if you’re right and all that men are good for is making babies, that, at least, is one thing you can’t do without us.”
“Yet…  We’re working on it.”
“Well maybe we’re working on having babies without you.”
“Really?  That will be good.  Who’s going to change their nappies?”
“…How far have we got to go?”
“Before we can make babies without the messy bit?  Well, we can do that now can’t we?”
“I meant before we get to the hotel.”
“Why, do you need the toilet?”
“Oh, very funny.  I can’t see the sat-nav.  I just wondered how many near-collisions we might have before we arrive…  Don’t you think you were a bit close to that cyclist?”
“What cyclist?”
“The one on the…  Oh, very funny.”
“We’re about an hour away.  Look, the doctor told you that you needed to rest your ankle, why don’t you give your mouth a rest too?”
“You hate driving in silence.”
“I can put the radio on.”
“You hate the DJ.”
“I can change the station?”
“Not since you broke the tuning knob when you decided that you hated the song that was playing.”
“Oh…  Well you’ll have to talk to me then.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know.  Perhaps we could avoid the bee conundrum for a little while though.”
“Right, so…  Do you think that wasps know that they’re not going to die when they sting you?…”