11 August 2010
So. My wasp sting count is at twenty-two. Little buggers.
Yesterday First Husband goes out on the front porch with wasp killer-in-a-can. I stand by the front door ready to fling it open when he runs for it. He aims. Fires.
And screams like a little girl, “There are thousands of them!”
No duh. I get the door open in time to keep him from plowing through it.
From the safety of the dining room window, overlooking a very ticked off swarm of wasps in the gazillions by my count, he says, “You’re lucky you only got stung 20 times.”
No duh.
So today we go into town to run errands. He loads up on another can of long distance spray (the can says we can stand up to 27 feet away from the enemy). We did our research. Wasps, unlike a certain 19 year old cat who will remain nameless, sleep at night. So it’s night maneuvers tonight.
I’m not sure how we’ll see where to shoot the spray, since the online advice saId the wasps are ‘sensitive’ to artificial light like a flashlight. And of course we did not make it to the Army Navy store for night goggles or Kevlar full body armor.
So tonight could Very possibly be Stupid Wednesday.
