My World of Parkinsonian Delights

She Saved My Life… Again!

I’m sitting here at my work station yesterday.  It’s a warm afternoon and I’ve opened up the back door, despite initial trepidations caused by seeing the shadows of wasps buzzing around the door.  But we have a full-length hanging screen there, and it’s supposed to keep the bugs out.

So, I’m sitting there working on something, and my wife says, very calmly, “OK, honey.  What you’re going to have to do now is stand up and very slowly go into the living room.”

“Wasp?” I asked as I got out of my chair, crouching, walking towards the doggie gate.

“Yup,” she said.  She got the can of Raid (or whatever) and dispatched the horrid bastard.  It was about as big as a C-130 aircraft.

I hate wasps.  I fear the sight of them.  With reason.

When I was a kid, about 12, we had a little league picnic up at Eagle Point Park in my hometown, Clinton, Iowa.  I wandered off and climbed a tree with low branches.  Looking around and seeing no one, I decided this would be a great place to take a whiz.  Which I did.  All over a hornet’s nest.

They followed the stream and attacked this 12-year old boy, struggling to get down from about 30-feet in the air, being stung in places that a 12-year old in the late 60’s didn’t even know he HAD places.

So, I hate wasps.  Gail is the wasp killer.

Me?  I kill the spiders.  So I’m good for something.


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