It was 85 degrees this past weekend, bizarre for April, especially considering the brutal winter that preceded it. With such a sudden soaring temperature, it wasn’t surprising that life cycles began earlier than normal, or were otherwise propelled forward in their preparations. Even so, nothing prepared me for the unexpected flying greetings that awaited me Monday morning.
I pulled up the bathroom blinds and a giant wasp flew into my face. Okay, maybe it wasn’t GIANT, but it was a WASP in my HOUSE in my FACE so I get to use any word I want. Don’t let anybody tell you they’re more afraid of you than you are of them. People who say that are either idiots or they’re thinking of frogs. Let me not even consider a frog leaping out of my bathroom blinds. I’d never pee under them again.
Flapping at my assailant with this week’s Economist – sorry, honey, it was the closest magazine – I finally stunned him enough to run and get an aerosol can to spray at his face. I threw open the cabinet doors under the sink and grabbed the first thing I could lay my hands on and ran back to find him re-energized and waiting. Before he could make a move, I covered him in Aussie Catch the Wave Curl Scrunching Mist. His little antennae bent to the side and he staggered on the windowsill a moment. Then he went to heaven in a paper towel.
I wish that was all I had to tell you, but for the next two hours, every room I went into was like déjà vu all over again, as Yogi Berra once said. Between the Economist and the Scrunching Mist, I did battle with SIX wasps. I also knocked a picture off the wall in my office and damaged a silhouette shade in the living room. By noon I was pumping enough testosterone to bench press a Buick.
It was time to call in reinforcements so I hit the Yellow Pages for exterminators. Do you know how much it costs to have a service respond to a wasp call? Between $275 and $450. Some would only come give an estimate and then schedule the work later. Later? They wouldn’t even have to ring the bell later. CSI would already be here removing my stung, swollen carcass. Let the medical examiner pay them.
The exterminator guy was terrific. He climbed on the roof. He shimmied into the attic. He couldn’t find a nest anywhere. What he did see was a hole in one of our window screens. I expressed doubt about that being the point of entry, but as we stood watching, two more wasps squeezed through the hole and started dancing on the windowsill. The Ex-Man sprayed them with his Can of Death, which actually smelled better than the Aussie Scrunching Mist.
He told me to patch the screen and refused to take any payment. I gave him a nice tip and thanked him profusely. I asked if I could walk him out the deck door just to make sure there were no wasps lurking out back, waiting for him to leave. He said sure, so I swung open the door to the deck and we both yelled “HOLY SHIT!” as a swarm of black pavement ants came rolling over the threshold like a wave. In the 20 years I’ve lived in this house, I’ve never seen anything like it. The Ex-Man raised his Can of Death and laughed.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos tell it Like It Is
that’s right, sister
which one doesn’t belong?
take a break
love monster by aiko, joshua liner gallery