Waltz of the Bumble Bee

Waltzing through the backdoor of the Tahoe House, a young woman was dancing atop the bar. She saw me and climbed down behind the bar.

“Hi, can I get you a drink?”

“Yes, a beer.”

She handed me a bottle, and I pulled down a swallow to clear my dusty pipes.

“You must be bored,” I said.

“No, why?” she responded.

“I saw you dancing on the bar,” I said

“No, you didn’t,” she returned. “I was trying to catch that Bumble Bee.”

And there it was, resting in a corner above the bar, also suffering from a powerful thirst.