I have an unnatural fear of all stinging, flying insects. Bees ... wasps ... hornets ... you name it. No, I'm not allergic to them. But you don't have to own an epi-pen to know those little fuckers are evil! I fear these things the way other people fear Jason Voorhees. The difference? No matter how much you fear Jason Voorhees, I promise you he is not going to show up your bedroom one night. The other fuckers? They are everywhere.
I came home from Stoney's a little early tonight. We both have to work tomorrow and I think we were both a little on the sleepy side. So, I drove to the house, let myself in, and walked straight upstairs. I sat my bags down ... got my pj's out of the closet ... and got naked in expectation of a nice, hot shower.
Then I heard it ... this ... tapping. I looked up ... and a large waspy bee hornet thing was flying around my ceiling. It was large enough to make a "tap" every time it bumped into the ceiling fan or against the wall.
I screamed like the devil himself was shoving a hot poker up my ass. I ran down the stairs ... buck ass naked ... to grab my six-foot wasp spray. I opened the closet door to find the can gone. I used it all up last fall. So I grabbed my broom and ran back upstairs.
I hit the flying demon at least a half dozen times. I don't know if the broom was flimsy or if this was just one resilient motherfucker ... but he would not die. He wound up landing and hiding in the bottles of lotions and vitamins and such on my headboard. I was not sleeping with him above my head. So I poked at the bottles ... heard him buzz ... but he wouldn't come out.
Soooooo ... I swept everything off my headboard with the broom and he came flying out. He went into the shade around my nightstand lamp and was just flying in circles. Being the Mensa genius that I am, I decided I would swat the lamp with my broom and get him to fly out. Know what happens when you hit a lamp with a broom? The light bulb goes out.
Yup ... you read that right. I was now standing, naked, in a pitch black room with a pissed off wasp.
Again, I ran out of the bedroom screaming and slammed the door. I ran back downstairs and grabbed a new lightbulb out of the pantry.
Now, by this time ... I am having a full-on asthma attack. I am wheezing. I can't breathe. Wanna guess where my inhaler was? In my purse. In the bedroom. In the dark. With the pissed off wasp.
I walked ... I'm passed running at this point ... back upstairs and peeked in. It was dark ... obviously ... but I didn't hear him. I went to the other side of the bed and turned that lamp on. Unfortunately it has a florescent bulb in it ... so the light was dim and soft. There he was ... flying against the wall. I grabbed the broom and knocked him to the ground.
I ran to the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of the stiffest hairspray I own. I ran back and started spraying him. He looked up at me ... rage in his beady little eyes ... saying, "I am going to get you for this, bitch!"
(Note: No, I do not speak wasp ... however, I do read wasp body language. He was saying "I am going to get you for this, bitch!" I think. Maybe. He might've been saying, "Please don't kill me! I have a wife and kids!" I'm not sure ... my wasp is rusty.)
So I grabbed my new Entertainment Weekly and smashed him to pieces. Sorry, Jim Parsons. Your new project looks amazing and I do plan on watching it, I promise. I won't be reading about it, however, because my Entertainment Weekly is covered with sticky hairspray and wasp guts.
I took what was left of the intruder and flushed him down the toilet. I replaced the light bulb, took a hit off my inhaler, and got in the shower. But now I'm sitting here with what remains of this encounter ... the lingering fear ...
Where did he come from? How did he get in? How long was he in here? Are there more? Is there a nest? How the hell did he get in?
I can only see one, logical solution to this problem. I will have to move to the arctic circle where it is too cold for these type of insects to live. Stoney ... I love you ... will you come with me? Will you move with me to the Great White North? We will make friends with the natives. We will sleep under bear pelts and send ravens with messages to our loved ones.
Okay okay okay ... fine. That's Game of Thrones. But ... I would make a great Ygritte ... I have the red hair for it. And you would make a great Jon Snow. I'll tell you one thing ... Ygritte never had to run around buck naked in her house swinging a broom like a maniac just to avoiding being stung to death.
Ugh ... I hate them so much ...
And that ain't what it takes to love me
You fool, you fool
I don't like spiders and snakes
And that ain't what it takes to love me
Like I want to be loved by you"
Jim Stafford - Spiders and Snakes
Note: I know this post is about neither spiders nor snakes ... but I don't like them either.