After being chased by a swarm of yellowjackets, I don't go anywhere near them. Any of them. I take alternate entry routes if I see one chilling near a doorway. I have dived into my car from the passenger side when one was too close to the driver's side before.
Yesterday, just as I was about to leave for work, I leaned down to grab my purse, which was resting on a chair in my bedroom. And I heard a buzzing.
I looked up to find the source and realized it was coming from my lamp. But I couldn't see the perpetrator yet.
Please, God, I prayed. Let it be a moth being singed on my lightbulb.
But finally the creature freed itself and perched on the top of my purse's chair. The 1 and 1/2 inch wasp lazily flicked its wings as it walked cross the top of the chair. Which, I realized belatedly, I was still crouched over. I scrambled from my bedroom, fumbled to grab my phone, and slammed my door shut behind me.
Obviously, this was so the little bastard couldn't follow me.
I called my boss and told him, half-hysterically (the tears came at some point later), that I'd be late because "there's a wasp in my bedroom and I'm trying to deal with it."
Then I called my parents, who tried to assure me that they were laughing with me. But I wasn't laughing. Some highlights from that conversation include:
"The wasp looks like he's up to no good."
"Dad," (this as I tiptoed across my floor, trying to get up the nerve to grab my purse and run) "please lower your voice. You're being very loud and I'm trying to be stealthy."
Mom: "Did you get your stuff?"
"I saw him flying."
"So where are you?"
"Hiding in the bathroom."
I gathered my courage, grabbed my purse, alerted my roommates and left for work eventually.
|The wasp's corpse. Felled by a flip-flop.|
Thankfully they'd killed it by the time I got home.
But you'd better believe that I bought myself some Raid anyway.
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