My son (age 9) was reading a new science book. I was in mid-sip of my coffee when he approached and asked an innocent question.

“Hey Dad – did you know that when honeybee’s have sex the male’s testicles explode?”

I sprayed beverage all over the newspaper.

“Really?” I spluttered, reaching for a napkin. “Isn’t that interesting, son.” I crossed my legs and tried to remain calm.

It turns out that performing the mating act means the successful male hunka-hunka-burnin-love, or ‘horny bee,’ is dismayed to find his genitals have broken off inside Her Majesty.

This is somewhat distressing to the male, spells eternal frustration for the competing stud-muffin bees looking for some action, and probably creates feminine hygiene issues for the Queen. It may also explain something about Prince Phillip.

This whole scenario would make a great movie…

Exterior: Bee’s Knees nightclub.

The crowd is huge. There’s enough smoke hanging in the air to dull the senses. Everyone is droning on and on about the days events and how there are never any single females around, when a buzz goes through the crowd.

She’s here! The Queen arrives and waves to the crowd with several hairy appendages. She is ushered into the club, surrounded by security, the sweet nectar of her pheromones intoxicating everyone.

Inside, she dances the night away. She’s not looking for a mate. She’s just here for a good time.

Then it happens.

Vinny, a lowly worker by day but an incredible dancer once he gets all six legs working, swaggers out onto the dance floor, wearing the latest pollen. The Queen notices him immediately.

“My, what intact genitalia you have,” she says.

“Yes,” says Vinny. “It’s an evolutionary thing.”

“Ooh baby, you’re giving me hives. What’s your name, honey?”

They begin dancing to the driving beat of ‘Stayin’ Alive’ by the Bee Gees.

Thirty seconds later…

“Wow, that was great, Your Majesty. I just have to go to the bathroom and AAAACK!” Thud.

Okay, maybe it wouldn’t vie for an Oscar, but it is a compelling story.

I can understand why the thought of a male’s courting tackle falling off after vigorous bonking might appeal to many women, Mrs. Woods. Speaking purely as a male, though, I must level some stinging criticism towards the whole idea.

I mean, think about it. Having someone around who can spit up a new house every so often is pretty handy, isn’t it? What about the larva – are you going to raise and nurture them all by yourself? Actually, forget that last point, but you see what I mean? Who is going to teach them how to deal with all the WASP’s at university, for instance? Let’s not be too hasty in our thinking.

We are nurturing males, not just a bunch of mindless drones with sex on our minds. Okay, ignore that point too. What I mean is, there’s a swarm of humanity out there and I think it’s best if you keep us around, genitals intact, for your own safety, and the safety of our ten thousand offspring.

It’s not like we’re out chasing other females around is it?