Flailings and Flappings

In these past few weeks of summer, I have learned something new about Mr. W. In addition to being thoughtful, an amazing cook, a wealth of knowledge on many subjects and a fandamntastic kisser, he’s also extremely entertaining to watch if there is a fly, June bug or squirrel in the vicinity.

Typically subdued and suave, Mr. W turns into a swashbuckling gazelle when something unwanted is in his house or yard. He bounds about, arms flailing, mouth cursing, trying with every ounce of his being to capture or scare off the home invader.

It is a complete crack-up and unbelievably endearing. I might actually consider planting insects and rodents in his house, just so I can watch him perform. I say “might” because I’m not entirely sure I can deal with another episode like the one that happened on Sunday.

We had just finished lunch when he stopped at the sliding glass door to inspect some sort of intruder. “I think there’s a wasp in here,” he said, backing up to the kitchen to procure an entrapment device. I was about 15 feet away, sitting idly on the couch.

Mr. W reached up and attempted to trap the wasp in a glass but it buzzed away and landed on one of the exposed ceiling beams about 6 feet away from the couch (still a safe distance from me). This called for the big guns. Bug spray. When he positioned a chair under the beam and shot a stream of raid at the little buzzer, it flew in a wide arc, around the living room, and before I could flee, it charged towards me, and as I whipped my head to shield my face, a blonde lock reached out and grabbed the wasp.

“IT’S IN MY HAIR! IT’S IN MY HAIR! IT’S IN MY HAIR!” I said calmly, coolly, collectedly. Just like when that necklace attacked me.

I was standing with my hair flipped over and my face cocked to the side as far as it would turn to get away from the lethal insect. The next thing I felt was furious brushing, as though someone was swatting me in the head with a broom. But alas, it was just Mr. W trying to whap the little bastard away with his hands.

When he finally dislodged it, it fell to the couch and he drowned it in a storm of aerosol repellent. “Is that even a wasp?” he asked, covering it with the glass and examining its unusually long blackish body. I’m pretty sure it was a wasp hybrid. Perhaps part dragonfly or pterodactyl.

Eventually, he relocated the choking wasp to the backyard and drenched the couch in upholstery cleaner. My hair is recovering nicely, thanks for asking.