I think I have mentioned once or twice that I’m not a fan of the buzzing / stinging things. They make me recoil in horror – like this:
I remember going to a park years ago with a friend and her smaller, jam smeared cousins. Half an hour later one toddled up to us in hysterics while sticking out a hand with a HUGE wasp on it. This thing was MASSIVE. It was the Titanic of wasps I tell you. I immediately recoiled with horror whereas my friend bravely crouched down at face level, put her wrist around the little girls wrist and said “Don’t worry, it wont hurt you. Just keep still.” And after a few moments, the Titanic-wasp flew away. To me, right at that moment, my friend was practically James Bond. I remember squinting at her, thinking “Ugh… I wish I was that cool. WHY AREN’T I THAT COOL?!” I’m just not. Especially when it comes to the buzzing / stinging things. With age and experience I have given in to this aspect of myself and accepted it. It’s a bit like having a third nipple. Slightly embarrassing but you get used to it.
Anyway – so there I was in my flat this morning, minding my own business … eating my Cheerios and contemplating my navel (you get the idea) when suddenly I heard this weird buzzing sound. It was really, REALLY loud. All I could think was “aww crap, our boiler is on the blink!” but I opened the door to the boiler, and nothing. I closed it, there was buzzing. Opened it, no buzzing, closed it, buzzing. Hmm. Open, silence, close, buzz, open, silence, close, buzz. This was really weird.
Eventually I discovered where the noise was coming from. A wasp was laying on its back with its stinger in the air and the kitchen bin on its head. I don’t know how it ended up in this position but I think it was a little embarrassing for the both of us. As the wasp was only partially dead its motor reflexes were going into overdrive – including the wings, which sounded like a helicopter coming in to land against the laminated floor. For a split second I didn’t know what to do. My first instinct was to stand on it, but luckily I realised I wasn’t wearing slippers before I actually did this. The wasp started buzzing again, only louder and in a more threatening tone. Now what? BLUDGEON IT TO DEATH! Yes! I looked around, but there was nothing available to do this with. I rifled through the cutlery drawer and yanked out a fork. I have no idea why, but I decided to go with it.
I crouched down on the floor and smushed the wasp HARD. After all, I might loathe wasps but I believe in a clean kill – even for insects. I thought that was the end of it, until I realised that while I had successfully smushed the body of the wasp the head had poked through the spokes of the fork and its antennas were still twitching feebly.
Kill it! Kill it!
I mushed again. The antennae was still twitching.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Finally, I slumped against the kitchen floor. The wasp was dead. It fought valiantly, so I gave it a burial at sea with a two flush salute.
Life was never this complicated when I was little.