I am afraid of wasps. And there are some huge, intimidating wasps that like to nest in my utility room. The room is just outside my back door. There is an old door to it, once painted turquoise now peeling and rotting on it's hinges that if left open, even a crack, will be enough in one afternoon to welcome a new wasp family.
I have been known to drop all pretense of doing laundry when I walk in that room and see one up there, busily building a nest in the ceiling. And there has not been one single time in the whole 12 years I've lived in this house that I have walked into that room without craning my neck in all directions, searching for any new nests.
And oh, I just hate to see their bodies, like little weapons they are, little bombers with sinister wings just waiting to dive down and kill me. And the worst is when they position their nest right inside the door frame. So the only way to spray poison is to actually enter the room or crane your arm crazily and hastily spray and run for your life.
And it was one such scenario that I was just not willing to face the other day. Nesting wasps in the worst place possible, I'm all like, where is my husband- this clearly falls into the sacred man service of killing bugs for their fragile female. And I'm trying to wash his underwear anyways.
Now my man does not believe in wasp spray for some reason. He prefers the brooms on approach. And he merely rolled his eyes in exasperation when I explained the mission and my suggestion on how he should use the wasp spray.
I didn't waste any time defending myself because I knew that what he was walking into would illustrate my point well enough. And sure enough, Randy walked in that room armed with a broom and 10 seconds later erupted back out with enough force to turn over a couple of patio chairs. Angry wasps were flying everywhere. I was inside giggling.
When my husband quickly stepped into the safety of our kitchen I looked at him and said, "Scary as hell isn't it?" He grinned a bit sheepishly but quickly told me how I need to keep that door closed so they don't get in to begin with. It's always my fault somehow - gah!
But just this week I had to face my irrational fears on the subject of wasps when I pointed out a nest to my grandmother. It was just above her garage and I was just leaving with Sarah. There was no way I was going to spray those things and possibly send some flying at all of us but I could tell my grandmother was not going to let it wait. I tried, as I got Sarah buckled in the car and then put on my own seatbelt to convince her of the danger and to please, please, please promise to wait until I came next and I would to spray it down.
Her wise eyes and calm demeanor as she explained patiently the marvelous invention of wasp shoot and spray and how it would drop them and there was nothing to fear simply increased my anxiety as I knew she was totally going to clear off those wasps as soon as I left.
And so as I drove away I had to smile ruefully that there was simply no panicking someone like my grandmother who has been there and done that for 90 years and has enough common sense to simply spray down the nest, sweep it off the driveway and go on with life.