My basement is being held hostage

Here is a portion of an email I sent Chad last week:

Did you get my phone message? There's currently a MASSIVE bee holding the laundry hostage. I refuse to go near it. Amy wanted a specific shirt this morning, but I only managed to grab one she *didn't* want, so she's currently angry with me (the bee was actually sitting on the shirt she wanted - of course). Brooke called us both stubborn. Who? Amy and me? Stubborn? Never.

The email was sent out, of course, after a phone call that went along the lines of: "There's a huge bee in the basement. This is an emergency! Why aren't you answering your phone? Aaargh. Well, come home at noon, and get the bee out of the house; it's an emergency, I tell you!" Chad then ignored my emergency (how insensitive of him), so I had to send him an email. (Simply had to, you see). When he also ignored my email, I had to take matters into my own hands.

I got the longest pair of barbecue tongs I could find. I got a large bag. I went to the laundry room. With the pair of tongs, I clipped onto the edge of the shirt that the bee had been sitting on. I (gingerly) dragged the shirt into the bag, then grabbed the bag with the tongs. I then went up the stairs, saying Eee, Eee, Eee, all the way up (kind of like the five little pigs - And this little 'fraidy cat cried Eee, Eee, Eee, all the way up). I tossed the bag/bee/shirt combination out the door, and the bee flew away.

So then I thought I was done with all this bee business, right? I'm afraid not. I started to root through a basket of yet-to-be-folded clean laundry this morning, when a shirt started to buzz.

Aw, crap.

So now, I can only conclude that one of two things has happened. Either the bee that I didn't kill is coming back to tell me that he owns this house, or I've got a bee infestation. In my house. If I come to conclusion #1, then I've learned that you always kill the bad guy (I suppose I haven't watched enough superhero movies to know this), and if I come to conclusion #2, then I'm just going to move out. Or get an exterminator. Or do both. I think a bee infestation is worse than a mice infestation (for those of you that may forget, we had a mice infestation in our garage a few years ago). At least mice don't come equipped with weapons.