By Veronica
My two oldest children were watching a movie in the next room, and the two youngest were napping upstairs. I stepped into the kitchen to load the dishwasher, and the biggest wasp I have ever seen fell out of the blinds and began buzzing about the window.
I do not like wasps. Okay, nobody likes wasps (or do they? If you like wasps, tell me in the comments. Also feel free to have a psychological professional testify to your sanity in the comments. Just so we’re sure.) I – sorry, Gloria Steinem – consider one of the major perks of marriage to be the official relinquishing of all wasp-killing duties to my husband. I think I have an actual certificate to that effect somewhere. I’m almost sure I included it in the wedding vows.
But my husband was not home. And I could not find anyone who blithely kill wasps without minding the stings. There was no one to do it but me. And have I mentioned that this was the biggest wasp I had ever seen?
Still. Angry, big wasp! Near my children! Something must be done.
I would like to tell you that I threw back a shot of rotgut whiskey, pulled my pants up a little higher, straightened my dusty cowboy hat and shot that wasp right between the eyes. I would like to tell you that. In fact, yes, that is exactly what happened. I was tough and hard-eyed and unflinching. I killed that wasp dead, without even a quiver. And there are no witnesses to tell you any different.
Unless you happened to ask my neighbor across the street, who might tell you a fanciful story about me throwing my front door open, ducking behind furniture and shrieking while I threw junk mail at the villain until it slowly flew back outside.
But you can’t trust my neighbors. They’re all liars.
When Veronica is not insulting her neighbors, who are all very nice people really, she blogs at Toddled Dredge.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
My mom can GRAB A WASP OUT OF THE AIR WITH HER HANDS. HER HANDS ATTACHED TO HER BODY. She was a teacher for well over 30 years and taught in a school where wasps frequently got in. She has NO fear.
It’s all in the translation, really, particularly if you’ve got the rotgut on hand. I’m seeing it in my mind’s eye and thinkin’ yeah, it coulda been ducking and shrieking, but then again it also coulda been The Ninja-Mama Wasp Death Dance w/ Origami Stars.
Whenever I have a wasp inside I sneak up on it with something substantial, like a shoe, and beat it to a pulp, screaming the entire time. Those things have nine lives.
I would have had the children packed up and out of the house in SECONDS. And we would not have gone back in until the house was husband-certified as wasp-free.
I don’t like wasps. But I’m afraid to show fear, in case they have some sort of mammalian instinct. So when they get inside, I open the door or window nearest them then ignore them, best as I can.
(Funny to contrast this post with your post on Toddled Dredge. Was the wasp a catalyst for thinking about cursing?)
I use a flyswatter to stun wasps and then something more substantial to squish them dead.
My grandma, though? My grandma uses scissors. She will nonchalantly pick up the nearest pair, reach over, cut the wasp in half, and go back to whatever she was doing. (You still don’t want to touch the stinger; it works for quite a while after this method.) The windowsill behind her kitchen bench was still littered with half-bodies of wasps, last time I looked.
I have that certificate, too – except mine also specifically mentions spiders. And the bigger they are, the faster Hubs should respond!
OK. After (or perhaps the whole time) shrieking like the girl I am, I get out my vacuum and extend the wand and vacuum it up. Then the whole thing gets to sit outside to wait for my husband. Really people can calmly catch or cut these things?
I will kill any bug, etc that comes into my house no problem. Dont really like to but i will do it. I refuse for one little bug to keep me out of my own house. LOl
This reminds me of the time we had a wasp and Donn got out the bullwhip he’d bought as a child in Mexico and shattered a light bulb. At the end, the wasp was dead on the kitchen table, and my friend Theresa and I had nearly wet our pants from laughing so hard. It’s one of my fondest memories but words don’t do it justice.