Here are the most obvious symptoms, at least in my case:
- You talk to bees. As in, you stick your face six inches from the flower they're on and talk to them as if you're their mother assuring them that they're special, just like in the official Mom job description. And you don't really care who's weirded out.
- You develop a repertoire of stock "elevator pitch" answers. Mostly to questions that have to do with Colony Collapse Disorder or whether honeybees hibernate through the winter or how honey is harvested or whether you get stung.
- You buy sugar in ten-pound increments, and don't think to make up a lie to the question "What are you baking?" Mainly because you'd miss giving the checkout clerk and folks in line something wierd to talk about.
- You don't diplomatically stop yourself from correcting people when they refer to yellowjackets/wasps/etc. as "bees." Particularly in the context of what a nuisance yellowjackets are.
- You don't empty out the smoker before putting it in the back of the truck. Partly b/c it'll probably be out by the time you're home and partly to see whether anyone will notice that the vehicle seems to be on fire. (Odds are, usually not.)
- You wake up one day and realize that you have a head full of bee esoterica that simply will not help you survive the zombie apocalypse. Which somehow doesn't stop you from talking the ears off anyone who asks you about bees.
