Long Live The Queen Bee

By: Peggy Willms


(3 min. read)

Many of you have been laughing at me for years when I say, “I get all the information I need to exist from TikTok.” There is a centralized location for everyday people to be weird, cook, sing, dance, teach content, and share worldly news. I may or may not be guilty of doing all these things on my TikTok platform.

I learn the locations of hurricanes, how to clean baseboards, developments on the Travis Kelce/Taylor Swift saga, where the solar eclipse will be seen first, and what is happening in Gaza. I laugh and cry with talking cockatoos, victims of trauma and eating disorder journeys, and jam to the newest song like Brake’s “Cigarettes and Black Lipstick Stains.” There is no limit, which is likely why there are 4.8 billion users with one billion active monthly users. Show me those stats on CNN, Fox, or MTV.

I will not address who owns the app—we all know what country. PS: it starts with a C. I will not address that they are “stealing” our government secrets and tracking American behavior patterns via this app. Who isn’t? I will address what video inspired my writing to you this morning.

First, shout out to mr.mrs.beerescue. How did this couple jump into my algorithm today? I don’t question that anymore. It is almost serendipitous to me…it cracks me up, and I always go with it. This couple rescues bees, which mostly hang out in the deep hollows of trees. It sounds like a new children’s book title: Rescue Those Bees Who Hang Out in Trees.

Just as you have seen in the Disney Bee movie, different bees, based on their skill level, have different responsibilities. The main goal is to protect their Queen at all costs. This is my message today… Long live the Queen.

Stay tuned until the end, and you will understand why my fingers are rapidly typing, and I will get to my final message.

To keep it simple, there are three levels in the hive hierarchy; each job is based on skill level. Think of it as a corporation: the boss, the supervisors (middle management), and the workers. All responsibilities must be executed brilliantly for a company (hive) to survive.

Mama Queen, the Goddess, has one job—lay 1,500 eggs PER DAY to make her royal jelly. She has about 60,000 “employees.” A hive without a Queen is a chaotic mess (duh). She leaves her hive once in her life, and that is to mate with Big Daddy Drone. Apparently, he does his thing about 100 times before he drops dead. What an ego that dude must have. He is like our real-life Nick Cannon.

Worker bees have a female-to-male ratio of 100 to 1. A woman’s work is never done. These women are known as the Workers or House bees, and they complete every single task in the hive (except mate). They care for the larvae, groom the Queen, clean the hive and other bees, and are undertakers (someone has to perform funerals for those who go to Bee Heaven). And guess what the male Worker bees do? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. That deserved caps. N to the O to the T to the H to the I to the N to the G. Nada. Nil. Zilch. They buzz around, chill, eat, and wait to mature and become a Big Daddy Drone.

And here I am, ready to deliver my most brilliant message in a long, hot minute. We must protect our Queen Bee. Our human Queen Bee. Without strong, badass women, the world shall perish. Period. Without protecting our mothers, creating safe spaces, and limitless support, the globe will stop spinning.

JUST A MINUTE (another reason to use caps)—I am not ignoring or downplaying the role of males in this world. It takes two to tango. We all have a mama and a daddy, even if we despise or don’t even know them. We are there because of them. My point is our moms are tired. Many are working two jobs to make ends meet. But we also have a third job—keep the “hive” clean and tidy. And let’s not forget many have a fourth job: raising more bees to become respectful, prosperous, drug-free, and stay out of jail.

Today, I Hail the Queen and ask you to do the same. When you see a woman, whether she is “your” mother or not, remember the planet exists because someone carried you around for 40 weeks (whether you are close with your mother or not, biology is a fact). We must respect and support our women!

Until today, I didn’t realize why my boyfriend calls me Queen “P.” Yup. It is even my streaming app avatars. He thinks I am the bomb dot com. He protects me. He helps me. He worships me…okay, that is going a bit far.

I would love it if you screamed across the Walmart parking lot, “Long Live the Queen.”


Peggy Willms
                                                                     All Things Wellness, LLC

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