Little bee doesn’t want to work today. She wriggles groggily under her bee sheets. Her head is glued to the pillow, or, at least, weighed down with dreams, such that her little neck is too weak to lift it. Her alarm buzzes again: disdain prickles up the small of her abdomen and necessity jolts her upright. She slips on her bee slippers and gets ready for the day. “A bee gotta do what a bee gotta do”, she says to herself in the mirror, whilst brushing her proboscis. And off she pops.