A queen came to visit my home, arriving unannounced one warm June day. Had I known she was coming, I definitely would have been prepared. I knew that she had graced us with her presence when I arrived home and found my house abuzz with activity. I didn't actually see her, but I knew that she was nearby because her entourage was flitting about.
Now you would think my family would be thrilled to have visiting royalty around, but that was not the case. Our reaction was less than favorable. My own personal feeling was to get them to leave ASAP. When my oldest son realized that our house was such a hive of activity he said, well, actually I can't tell you what he said because this is a family newspaper. My younger children just shyly peered out the window, not accustomed to being around a queen.
Not wishing to anger our visitors, as I sensed that they might get as mad as hornets, I had to come up with a plan to get them to leave, because they were really becoming a royal pain. Because I had the feeling that the queen was a kept woman, I did the only logical thing I could think of -- I called a keeper.
Well, the keeper got here as fast as he could. He was a real honey of a guy and he tried to sweet talk her to leave, but no luck. She and her consorts had decided to take up residence with us. The keeper assured me that my guests would probably just stay the summer and be gone by the time the snow flies. The idea of having them stay here that long didn't fly well with me.
I think the queen felt comfortable here because she thought we were related somehow. You see, my daughter has her room decorated with numerous items that say "Princess," so naturally one could assume a royal connection.
While we were flattered that she thought we had some sort of relationship, she still had to go. The queen was OK on her own; it was her entourage who turned my house into such a hive of activity and really put a bee in my bonnet. Not only was their flitting about annoying, their constant droning was a real bite. No, we weren't going to stand for it anymore. My husband and I talked that evening; it was time to call in a professional.
The next morning, James, a big burly man, who looked like he could be a linebacker for the Buffalo Bills, arrived. I could tell by his confident manner that he had done jobs like this before. He assured me that he could take care of my guests -- permanently. After a quick look at my guests, he then delivered some disturbing news; the queen was already dead, having succumbed during the night.
Her consorts, James told me, had lost their purpose, after the death of their queen. They were just hanging around here since they had nowhere to go. There was only one option, it wasn't pleasant, but it had to be done. He guaranteed that they wouldn't feel a thing.
I waited out of sight while he did the deed; then I paid him for his efforts. It really stung that I actually had to pay someone to get the job done, but I didn't have the courage or the equipment to do it on my own.
It would have been nice if the queen and her entourage could have moved on to greener pastures rather than meeting their untimely demise at my humble abode -- but I guess it just wasn't meant to bee.
Christine A. Smyczynski, of Getzville, was thrilled to get rid of her summertime guests.