A generic adult female conquers fear and some wasps
There is something empowering about tackling a problem that would normally drive others into the corner, cringing and whimpering. In the past 3 days, I have successfully dealt with 2 wasps’ nests.
The first one was admittedly small, no more than the size and shape of a piece of Honeycomb cereal—just those 7 little compartments and 7 little wasp maggots. It was hanging on the inside of her screen door (that has no screen and thus let in the first intrepid house-hunting wasp). I had walked through the door a couple of times, and once even noticing a loud buzz. But I waved my hand in the air, hoping to drive away the deer fly that I thought made the buzzing noise. But later, while sitting on Mother’s deck, we saw the actual wasp fly through the hole where the screen should be and up into the top part of the door frame. I opened the door, looked up, and spied the wasp evilly tending to its little 7-bedroom hive. The generic adult husband (hereafter known as GAH) was with us, and I knew I was going to be the one to have to take on the wasp and hive. GAH is a disposer of spiders, not stinging insects. We found some wasp-killing spray (my mother has everything, it’s just a matter of being able to find it in her piles and shelves of stored goods) and I happened upon a pair of sturdy scissors. You can’t go into battle against a wily hornet armed only with spray, you need a weapon for that other hand, otherwise it might feel susceptible. Thus armed, I strode confidently up to the nest and sprayed the wasp. He (or she; it’s really hard to tell the difference) took flight and flew straight into the bird feeder pole. I must have sprayed it in the eyes. He fell to the ground, but was not lifeless and quickly gathered his few waspy wits together and buzzed away. The hardest part of the task out of the way, I brandished my scissors and cut down the nest. We all had a good look at it, and GAH finally felt manly enough to take over for me and he kicked the nest out into the nether regions of the back yard and squished it into oblivion. I hitched up my drooping capris by the belt loops, spat on the deck, and said to my mom, “Now, you need to keep an eye on the screen door. Them wasps like to build in the same spots. If’n you spy any more hangin’ around, give ‘em another shot of the death spray,” and I rode off into the sunset in my ice-blue minivan.
The second nest was on my own house, not three feet away from the boys’ bedroom window. It was considerably larger than my mother’s nest, must have been the size of at least 7 pieces of cereal. And it was being maintained by no less than 10 wasps. I knew I was up against a most formidable challenge—the nest was 10 feet off the ground, hanging under the eaves where the garage meets the house. I needed something more than scissors. I needed…..a hockey stick. I batted at the nest but succeeded only in irritating the corps of buzzing hell-beasts. I squawked loudly as one or two flew at me and I flung my arms up in front of my face in defense. It worked, they flew back up to the nest, apparently cowed by my sheer size. I hoped the neighbor, who was out staining his deck, didn’t hear me yelp, because I probably sounded like a sissy. And not wanting to make any more unintended noises, I quickly reformulated my plan. I scoured the house for wasp spray, but unlike my mother, I’m not prepared for every eventuality. I had to settle for ant/roach spray. Really, what’s the difference? I jimmied the screen off my boys’ bedroom window (an accomplishment in itself since I didn’t even break it) and leaned out to unleash the toxic shower upon those who dared to encroach upon my domain. Several of the wasps buzzed off angrily, but in the wrong direction, thank goodness. I kept spraying and the rest of the wasps fell to the ground, never to rise again. I put the screen back on (again, not breaking it or even scraping it with the butter knife) and again took up my hockey stick to bring down the nest. There were several wasp young on the verge of becoming adults and several more maggoty-looking younger ones in the nest compartments. I called my children to have a gander. We looked and discussed and had ourselves a hands-on scientific experience. Then I squished the nest with the edge of the blade of the hockey stick. Lemme tell ya, wasp maggots are juicy. I had to take the hose to their guts.
Hail, the conquering hero! I can do anything!
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