the buggy

The demon wasps attacked Steve last night as he attempted to cook our London Broil to medium. It was hard to tell who was winning; the upright can of wasp killer spraying everywhere or the wretched wasp maneuvering like Maverick himself below the hard deck to avoid the stream of poison. The steak was perfect, but I could not stop thinking about those damn wasps.

The summer we moved in I noticed them, flying in and out of a long dead tree on the side of the house. Later that year when I removed all the hosta around the sad lilac, I dug up what could only have been their nest. The tree was taken out with just one simple push by my brother. It was a sad, dead tree, good only for our wasp tenants who I wanted evicted pronto.

They came back last summer at about this time. Finding their tree gone and grass neatly covering their old nest they made themselves a new home near a flagstone not far from the patio. Some wasp spray in their entrance/exit for a few nights at dusk was all it took to enjoy the late summer in our yard, but the whole time they were still camping out in the backyard, you could not even walk by the patio without a few jumping you to remind you that this place was theirs, YO!

So imagine my confusion when we have eradicated these nasty enormous buggers two years in a row only to have them buzzing around these parts again! I sincerely thought we were done with them, but here we are entering round three. Is it possible that they return each year after hibernating elsewhere perplexed that Auntie Thelma is no longer living here?

I just spent a sad amount of time looking at photos of wasps trying to identify exactly what we are dealing with, but really, who cares exactly what kind of disgusting wasp it is? I don't want to ruin anyone else's lunch with a photo of this hideous insect. Seek and destroy is the only possible mission objective.

This morning I peeked out and saw several wasps already sauntering around the patio liked they owned the place while my bagel toasted. I watched as one skulked off into a newly dug dirt pile. Can we chat for a moment what incredible feats these things are capable of accomplishing? Over just a few days this weekend they were able to dig a dirt pile noticeable from the second floor windows. Last night they must have started construction on this new pile by the patio edge. Steve keeps closing off their entrances with his shoe, but I argue that we want to keep them in one nest, no need to create wasp pandemonium and killing the nest is what will end all of this won’t it?

So this morning in suit pants and a tie Steve ended three of their lives with the can of death before smushing the newly built pile o’ dirt.

I sat inside while all of this was happening with Caroline who looked towards the open back door and then to me. “Da-eee getting the buggy?” I paused. I knew that my next sentence would be important. I don’t want my daughter to be afraid of bugs, but these aren’t just any bugs and a sting from one would really hurt her. Thinking about them patrolling the patio gives me the shivers. I think this has something to do with the terrible time I was stung by a wasp myself when I was about her age. Some things you just don’t forget. “Yes, Daddy is getting the buggy. Only daddies and mommies can tell the buggy to go away. He doesn’t belong here, so Daddy is telling him to go home.” So go home wasp - go anywhere but here!


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