I saw a wasp skulking around on our deck. It was one of those lanky, black things with the long droopy legs. They slog through the hot, thick air in a predatory shrug. Back and forth…back and forth…looking for…you. I raced for my wasp and hornet spray, crept onto the deck, aimed just ahead of where I anticipated his next lurking shrug, and blasted a stream of toxic, wasp killing poison. I missed. I prepared for my second assault. The can went “pssstthurssh.” It was empty. By now the wasp was not happy. I threw down my weapon and ran for the safety of the house.
I did the only sensible thing. I drove to the Dollar General Store. Those people who stock that store understand me. They make sure to have my phobias well covered. Not only did they have a full shelf of wasp and hornet spray but each can bragged about how there was 25% more wasp killing poison in each can. I rearmed with three cans and returned to take down the demonic intruder. When I returned home, there were three more of those creepy things flying some kind of reconnaissance mission across our deck. I watched from behind the kitchen door and thought I detected a pattern. They had erected a wasp fortress somewhere close by. I did the next sensible thing. I waited for my husband to come home and sent him in search of said fortress armed with enough ammunition to wipe wasp DNA from the planet.
I really hate those things. They strike the same terror in my heart as did those flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz. I couldn’t sleep for three nights after watching that movie as a kid. My husband is well aware of my wasp phobia (which is a close second to my spider phobia) and my less-than-effective attempts to shoot down the darned things in mid-flight. Once when we were barbecuing I shrieked when a wasp appeared in front of the grill. I let fire with my handy can of wasp spray. It wasn’t my best moment. It was a gas grill. There was this humongous whoosh of flame. My husband and I dove for cover expecting a big BLOOEY that never came. The whoosh of flame quickly died down without catastrophe.
The steaks were well done. I’m pretty sure I got him.