The Birds and the Bees

by Tom Horonzy

Papa dearest, I have concerns.

"What might they be, my cherished son?"

I'll be turning twelve next week, and
Mama said we need to speak about the birds and bees,
and other such things like how Cissie came to be.

"Ahem. She did now, did she?"

(A thought bubble appears of the night his daughter was conceived.
A smile follows. Mama must have had the same recollection. He smiles again.)

Yes, she did.

"Well, I suspect it's time. Cissie was conceived beneath the sheets one night.
The lights were low, but your mother glowed. Biologically, she was ripe."

I don't understand. What's that to do with birds and bees?

"Mom was chirping like a 'full-breasted Chat, causing me to busy myself
like a bee tracing flowers, touching here and there, until ...
she shrieked like an Eastern Screech Owl, which only lasted as long as I did
before becoming a squawking Blue Jay demanding more honey than I had to offer.

And that, like Forrest Gump, is all I have to say on the matter!"

I like your story better than my teacher teaching sex education.

The End.

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A 'climatic; photo to end the entry, says both parties were elated.

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