A lot of people would be stoked to inherit their parents’ property, especially when it’s a farm. Not me though, I got an apiary. It wasn’t long after my dad became a beekeeper that I was innocently playing in the yard and got sortied by a swarm of his little critters. I’ve never been the same since. Even the sound of a little buzz by my ear makes my pupils contract and my spine straighten, until I confirm that the sound was only a fly. So when Dad handed the farm over to me, well as you can imagine, I was knew I was in trouble.
Living on the apiary is no walk in the park. My wife now does most of the beekeeping. I try to stay indoors as much as possible. She reckons that our business is failing and that we need to call the signwriters. Melbourne sign writers can make a big billboard in the front of our house to help us sell the honey. I said alright, as long as I don’t have to go out there.
To make matters worse, I’m actually allergic to honey. We’ve got so much of the stuff lying around since business hasn’t been going too good. My wife puts it on everything and sometimes she slips it into the cooking despite my condition. ‘You’re just a hypochondriac,’ she says, ‘It’s not an allergy, it’s psychosomatic!’ All the more reason for us to get the business signs.
I actually think we should also get some safety signs. Melbourne residents and people in the surrounding town should be forewarned for the danger of bees! I don’t want any small children to have to go through what I went through, and most of all, I don’t want them to be cursed with a bane of an inheritance like this. That’s why I’m so reluctant to sell the business. As much as I hate this business, the last thing I want is to pass the bad fortune onto someone else.