Day Thirty-Eight: Flea For Your Lives

I’m fairly neutral when it comes to insects in general, but wasps I don’t like.  People that say ‘their sting really isn’t that bad’ are lying because they want to see you cry.   It’s really really bad and for a few minutes of your life you wish you were dead.  I think in general, I have quite a low-tolerance conscience that likes to nag me all the time, but when it comes to wasps, it turns a blind eye.  In fact, it laughs in cruel solidarity as we watch the little devils writhe and die.    The following story is true, and trust me, I remember it in vivid detail.

Right, I’m not beeing pathetic or anti-feminist, it’s nothing to do with man vs lady, ‘bird’ vs ‘lad’: if there’s a wasp in your room you get scared.  At the end of last year an injured wasp got into my room.  I thought I’d fly and be kind, and let it die a slow quiet death under a cup on my floor, but this did gnat go to plan.  It was really bugging me, knowing that it was there, so even though leaving it until the end of termite have been a better idea, I couldn’t wait that long.  I left it for four days, praying (man tis difficult to relive this experience) that it would be dead.  Lifting the cup was aphiddly process ant I did a pretty lousey job, managing to free the very alive wasp.  I tried to cricket into going out of the window, but it got wedged under a book I had about France (specifically Paris sites).  I decided then, that I had license to kill it.  After severing it into pieces with a hairspray can (possibly not the most humane way I could have done it), I spider bit of the wasp WALKING OFF – a bit that DIDN’T HAVE A HEAD.  Running to Alice’s room I broached the subject of what had happened, and she came to my aid declaring ‘Weevil defeat it!’.  Charging into the room she shouted ‘Ear wig go!’ and with one swift swipe, the bits of half-dead wasp were stilled forever.


I entered a swimming contest at the weekend and won the 100 metre butterfly.

Seriously, what am I going to do with an insect that big?


5 thoughts on “Day Thirty-Eight: Flea For Your Lives

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