Wasp Wars: The Final Battle (?)

Last night Rich came over with a mosquito-net hat, heavy gloves, and thick clothing to douse the yellow jackets on my balcony with the wasp poison I had purchased earlier that afternoon. They came flying out at him, but the netting protected his face, and he almost got away without any stings. (I had wanted to come out with a weapon to cover his back, but he told me to stay inside.) He brushed all the yellow jackets off of himself - or so it seemed - and came back into the house, but one I hadn't seen during the pre-entry inspection stung him on the elbow. It buzzed around my house after him, completely ignoring me. I was surprised at its memory and tenacity, that it would think of Rich and only Rich as the enemy. He swatted it with one of my word game puzzle magazines, and then we washed it down the sink. On the edge of the sink, to my surprise, I found a second one lying in a daze, possibly from the poison. I am still in awe of their intelligence, that two of them could hide somewhere on his person!

This morning I saw a dozen or so small bodies on my balcony, and I didn't feel any joy, just a grim satisfaction. Then I saw a couple of sad, confused wasps flying around, and suddenly I felt very sorry for them. They invaded my homeland, attacked me without provocation, and refused to reach a peace agreement, but they were clever and valiant adversaries that I had to admire. This must be why they don't let woman fight in wars. We're too sympathetic.

Anyway, it's true what they say: war is hell.

Famous Hat