With all of these hurricanes that we’ve been having over here, my schedule for mowing the lawn has gotten very messed up. I did however get a chance yesterday, but another despicable force of nature came up. You see, we have an extreme problem with bees/wasps (they look like wasps, but their stinger comes out, so I can’t tell which), and they don’t just live in nests near the roof. They dig into the ground and build these bunkers with dozens of them waiting to come attack. The time when this really becomes a problem is when you’re mowing the lawn, and you accidentally pass over one. Fortunately, I can normally see the hole in the ground with two of them crawling out in enough time to run inside. Except things become more complicated when tall grass covers the nest, so you can’t see it until it’s too late.

This happened to me on Thursday. I had just started to mow, when I saw a wasp fly by me, but this happens often enough that I just waited it out. So I put my other hand back on the lawn mower, yet I thought it strange that the lawn mover had grown fur since I last touched it (I don’t think wasps like to be touched). Yup, I had just passed over a nest, but in the moments it took to get more than 10 feet from the nest I had been stung twice. It really hurts to get stung - people are telling the truth when they say that getting a shot isn’t as bad as getting stung.

Ah, but it wasn’t over: terror would soon strike me as it never has before. I had made it to the sink to run my finger and arm (where I had gotten stung) under water. It was then I realized that a wasp was crawling on the mirror, slowly moving up as though preparing for another attack - a war had broken out between the species. I proceeded to dash into our living room, the room farthest away from the front door. My sister had followed me in, she would be the one to deliver the next bit of bad news. She was saying that it was still on me, and I assumed that she meant the stinger that was still on my finger. But no, I looked down to find a wasp crawling up my shirt. Not quickly, but slow as if to draw out the horrible experience for as long as possible. Eventually it jumped off my shirt, and I grasped at the opportunity to get away, and ran upstairs to bathroom faster than my cat could have and shut the door.

I’ll talk about my party tomorrow,

#m