Who am I? I'm Your Worst Nightmare

I don't know where they're coming from.  Maybe the attic?  We've lived in our new house for over a year and this is the first time we've ever had more than a singular winged intruder.  Yesterday, I killed two big ass wasps in the living room and another one met his maker today.  Me think-eth that it's too much of a coincidence that there have been three wasps in 24 hours that would have meandered into the house.

Being pretty lucky, I've been stung only two times in my life.  The first time, I was five and minding my own five year old business blowing lovely and innocent five year old bubbles.  Apparently one of my beautiful bubbles angered or threatened a bald faced hornet and he felt it necessary to attack my five year old face and sting me just under my eye.  Here is a picture of a bald faced hornet:

"I'm a stupid head Bald Faced Hornet"

The second time, a wasp stung me in the ass after I opened a storage bin that had been the wasp gang evil lair.  They were probably hanging out in there getting high, plotting a bank robbery or something and I lifted the lid and the one sober wasp ran into my butt and managed to sting me.  That hurt like crap and left a lump in my butt cheek for a week.  When my husband got home and I showed him my lumpy butt, he swiftly executed some mammal justice on the wasp underworld and sent 3 death bombs into their hideout.  Yeah, GIT SOME, wasps!

Fast forward 8 years to last fall when our sweet one year old boy was playing in the garage.  A humongous orange wasp crawled in his shirt and lit.him.up.  Stung that poor kid SEVEN times on his flank and stomach.  I wasn't home at the time of the attack but later witnessed the nasty red welts on my baby and that said it all.  Oh, Mr. Wasp.  It's On.  It's On, like Donkey Kong.  You done stung the wrong little dude.

Normally, we're a "Live and Let Live" kind of folk.  Mother Nature has a plan, a job, a role for every living creature and so who am I to interfere with an agent of Mother Nature?  Well, let me tell you who I AM.  Mirror, Mirror on the wall, I am the Baddest MOTHER of them all . . . when you mess with my kid, that is.

So, the wasps that like to land on the water and drink in our pool . . . FWAPPP . . . meet my friend, Mr. Oversized Skimmer.  He's about to make sure you get a good loooooong drink.  Oh-big-ass-mean-looking wasps that have buzzed their way into our house . . . THIS is what the COUPON CLIPPER magazine looks like - up. close. and personal.  Yeah, GIT SOME - 40% off Mexican food.  In Your FACE!

To say this behavior (mine, not the insects) bothers my husband is an understatement.  He actually told me he was disappointed in me and that I didn't need to kill the wasps . . . "There's no food here for them in the house, they're just going to die eventually anyway.  Your Rambo-esque vengeance is not necessary."

Well, to this I say, "What Evs, Husband! And, might I remind you about the Wasp War Waged in 2002 against those that stung me in the butt!?!  This one's for Jake.  'They drew first blood, not me.'  And I'm just sayin', Don't Start Nothin', Won't BEE Nothin'!"

So I will locate said source of the wasp invasion (probably in the attic) and deal with it swiftly and with EXTREME prejudice.  And just to give credit where credit's due, thanks to the fine folks who stuff the Clipper Magazine in my mailbox each month.  Thank you.  Your fine advertising vehicle swats and squishes wasps very nicely.  The last thing to go through these wasps' mind?  Clipper Magazine . . . followed by his own ass.  

The Best Local Advertising In America. Period Instrument of Wasp Death Ever.  Period!