Last weekend I decided to dig up the flower bed in front of our house and start over. Most of the things I had planted had become overgrown because that’s how it works in Texas — you either shrivel up and die or become mammoth.
I apparently disrupted the lives of two wasps during my planting, and they decided that our front door was the best place in the world to reside. Greg and I have looked up information on this type of wasp before because we see them everywhere. They’re supposedly dumber than a block of wood, but I’m pretty sure these two on our front door are smarter than the rest.
They haven’t built a nest. They just spend the entire day sitting on they front door so that every time I go outside, I duck and run as fast as I can like a soldier expecting enemy fire. They’ve got a vendetta.
I had started to adjust to them. They mainly sit near the hinged side of the door, so when I open it, they fly away. But in the past day or two, they have started to sit on the crack where the door opens, and I’m afraid they’re going to fly into the house.
When Abe and I returned from a walk this morning, one was sitting on the upper right corner of the door. I just knew that if I opened the door, if would swing on into the glorious air-conditioned house. And if Greg were here, that would be fine because once that sucker was inside we would have a good excuse to kill it. Greg’s out of town though. And I was not going to have that giant pest flitting about my kitchen.
But how could I make it move? Lob an object? I had a plastic bad with dog poo in it from the walk. Why not?
I aimed and nearly hit the wasp. It left its perch, and Abe and I scrambled inside. Abe had no idea what was going on, but he was very excited because we were running.
A short while later, I went back out to run. Of course, when I returned the wasp had come back, and I didn’t have anything good to fling. I started grabbing woodchips from the flower bed, but my aim was not nearly so great with these. They weighed a lot less. I spent five minutes and still hadn’t hit it. Geez, I couldn’t spend all day out here. I’m sure people driving past thought I had lost my mind.
I finally got really bold. I crouched down, sneaked up to the door, opened it just a crack and slammed it shut. I bolted away and looked back. The wasp had left again.
At this point, I think it’s easier to stay inside. Oh sure, I know it’s ridiculous being held hostage by wasps. But what really worries me is that thing about them being dumber than a block of wood. If they are, and I’m this frightened of them, what does that say about me?