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Bee Careful
By John Borneman
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"Pituitaries are not known for being tasty."
The speaker glared over her reading glasses at the small, quivering girl in a
powder blue dress standing alone in the middle of the large auditorium stage.
On twelve-year-old Gretl Summers' left, crouched her opponent. To her right, the
speaker sat behind a desk at the far side of the stage. The speaker's green hair
complemented her hungry scowl.
Gretl looked forward again and almost fainted at the sight of all those eyes
staring up at her out of the audience. A few out there hoped she would succeed.
Many more salivated and hoped for failure. She lowered her head and bumped it on
the microphone. It 'boompfed' in response. Someone in the back chuckled.
Gretl backed up a step and raised her head. In order to gain time, she asked the
classic spelling bee 'stall' question.
"Would you please tell me the origin of the word?"
The speaker pushed her glasses back up her nose, consulted a paper on the desk
in front of her and responded.
"Sol System. Earth language. Latin."
"Thank you." A Pause. "Pituitaries.
P--I--T--U--I--T--A--R--I--E--S."
The audience whooped and whistled and snorped and snarled. Her rival hung his
heads and took a step backwards.
"Very good, Gretl. You are correct. Since Glog 23 did not spell
'pituitaries' correctly, you must spell one more word to win. Ready?"
Gretl shyly smiled. She nodded politely toward the speaker. "Yes,
Ma'am."
"Good. Please spell, 'Spr'zng ehg^lfzcvkful.'"
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John Borneman lives under my deck. No,
seriously.
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