I was in the office this morning getting some work done. From behind me there came a buzzing and thumping, not unlike the pendulum in Poe’s imagination. Slowly I turned, and saw an enormous wasp knocking against the ceiling in what I assumed was a vain attempt to escape the room. Or trying to get my attention so he could see the look in my eyes as he began to eat me.
Now I’m not one of those girls who squeal and run when a bee is within five feet of me. I can keep my cool until I’m pretty sure it’s going to land on me — then I squeal and run. (I assure myself that there is a difference.) So I ignored the wasp and went about my business. He could stay on his side of the room, and I’d be fine on mine.
I heard a buzz close to me, then my new friend dropped from the ceiling and landed somewhere on my desk. I was fairly sure it was in my tea mug, so I scooted it away from me. I didn’t see him in there but I figured he’d probably sunk to the bottom. I looked everywhere on and around the desk. No wasp. So he had to be under the tea in the mug, right? RIGHT?
About five minutes later, I caught a minuscule movement from the corner of my eye and realized that the big waspy dude had been hanging out the entire time on my shoulder. A logical person would have brushed the wasp from his or her shoulder and gotten on with the morning. I went in a different direction.
- Screaming commenced, mixed with hysterical laughter.
- I yanked my arm out of the sleeve opposite the wasp. Screaming continued.
- I pulled the shirt over my head in a poorly-concocted plan to whip it off so that the wasp would be trapped in the shirt and not on me. The shirt got stuck on my head, with my buzzy friend inside.
- My screaming hit a high-pitched wail as I anticipated being viciously stung at any moment.
- Panic set in. I yanked the entire shirt over and over again while sprinting from the room. Not quite sure what I was running from, because the wasp was obviously coming with me.
- A ripping noise told me that I was tearing the entire upper half of my wardrobe à la Hulk Hogan.
- I tossed the shreds of my t-shirt onto the floor, called for Corey to help me, and cowered in the guest bedroom praying that the wasp was on the floor and not crawling through my hair.
The poor wasp was indeed on the floor, which Corey verified before smooshing him. I am fully aware that my hysteria wrought the bug’s demise and I do feel badly about that. But I think I feel worse that a bug brought me to a quivering, shirtless mess in the guest room. I’m just glad the kids didn’t witness my Hulkamania moment. Eesh.