The
Queen and the Wasps

The
wasps were actually pretty light this year on the island, about
one per picnic. Not like a couple years back, when everybody
was doing the wasp dance and we gave up picnics altogether.
Even the Queen.
Don't
ask me how I know this, but I swear it's true: When the Queen
was hob-nobbing around BC in 1994, part way through her tour,
she disappeared. In fact, where she disappeared to was a private
island at the north end of the Strait of Georgia. The island
is owned by a cousin of Prince Phillip.
It
was to be a genuine retreat for the Royals. Not even the kitchen
staff from the Britannia were invited. The cousin would take
care of everything, meals included. But here is the rub: he
decided, this cousin, that the night she arrived, the Queen
should have a picnic on the beach and eat... tacos.
Not
everyone thought this was a good idea. Picture it, the Queen,
sitting on the sand, holding a taco - I mean, has she ever even
seen a taco? - trying to figure out how to eat it, bits falling
out the ends onto the royal lap... Suffice it to say, there
was opposition. But the cousin, who was, after all, the host
and a relative to boot, would not be dissuaded. Tacos on the
beach, he insisted.
But
then someone from the next island (I am sorry, I cannot divulge
which one) asked innocently, "But what about the wasps?" Would
this be the Queen's welcome? There she is, butt on the beach,
taco in one hand, other arm flailing wildly against a dozen
of the things (and in '94, there would have been too)... The
Queen? Doing the wasp dance?
The
cousin looked chastened, as well he might. And so there was
no picnic and no tacos. The Queen had chicken in the dining
room. Two days later, looking refreshed, she returned to her
round of appearances, banquets and parades -- blissfully unaware
of the peril through which she had passed.