It’s Not You, It’s Bees
Don’t think of this breakup as the end; think of it as a new bee-ginning.
This isn’t working out. I think we should see other people. Or maybe what I mean to say is: I think I should see other people, because you only have time for your bees.
It didn’t used to bee this way; once upon a time, we were happy and in love. But then you started beekeeping, and everything changed. I feel like you don’t care about me anymore. I can’t remember the last time you called me by my name — you only call me “honey” now. You stopped asking me about my day. You stopped listening to me when I talked about my hob-bees. The only friend of mine who you wanted to hear about with was Buzz… until you found out that his name has nothing to do with bees.
And we never do anything anymore. We stopped going out because you always had to bee somewhere. We used to go to the movies every Friday, but now we just stay in and watch Bee Movie every week. When I asked to switch it up, you finally agreed to watch something else… as long as Bea Arthur was in it. We haven’t taken a trip together in years, because “what if my bees need me?” You never stopped to think that maybe I need you!
Our sex life suffered too. You used to say you only had eyes for me. You could barely keep your hands off me. But once the bees entered our lives, you only wanted me if I dressed up like a flower and asked you to pollinate me. I remember the last time we had sex. We had just come back from a Steelers game, and it seemed like the old spark had returned. When I realized later that you were only attracted to the black and yellow jersey I was wearing, I cried myself to sleep for a week.
Burt, please don’t protest. You’re making this harder than it needs to bee. You only want this to work so you can keep calling me your bee-trothed. But we shouldn’t get married — we’re at different stages in our lives. We’re looking for different things: you want your bees, and now I realize that I want a man who fucking hates bees.
You say you love me, but you’re not in love with me — you’re in love with bees. And that’s okay. You’re going to make some queen bee very happy one day. She’ll be one lucky lady.
I’ll always love you.
Goodbye, Burt’s bees.