Occasionally, I wonder why some creatures exist? I used to wonder this about snakes, but I’ve mostly gotten over that. Currently, however, I have been pondering this question in regards to yellow jackets and wasps. They aren’t particularly good pollinators. Bees, humming birds, and butterflies are all much more effective, and they are all much more pleasant neighbors. What, you may be wondering, could have led to such questioning?
It all began on Monday. We’d been noticing quite a few insects attempting to escape the cooling temperatures by sharing our warm domicile. Now, I’m pretty tolerant of most insects as long as they remain outside. Inside, however, they are fair game. Things were getting pretty bad, so Steve set off bug bombs in the attic and the crawl space Monday morning. We figured this would eliminate the most likely populations trying to enter the house. Lat on Monday, we noticed a few listless refugees. We put them out of their misery anytime we saw them, and went blissfully to bed.
Tuesday morning, when I finally decided I needed to drag my carcass out of bed, I tossed on my robe, and headed down the hall to wake Sarah. About 2/3 of the way to her room, I felt a hot burning sensation in the middle toe of my left foot. Now, understand that I went most of my 40+ years without being stung by bee or yellow jacket. In fact, I’ve only been stung 4 times in my life, and all of them have been inside one house or another. And two of them were Tuesday morning. Yes, two dying little buggers had stung my toe. I’m screeching like a banshee, ’cause it hurts. I want to hop around and grab my foot, but I have no idea how many more of the little buggers might be around, because of course, we don’t have lights in that hallway, and of course, I didn’t have my glasses on nor my contacts in. And I really don’t want to get my other foot stung too. Remember, I had just rolled out of bed, and hadn’t been to any other room in the house yet. Any woman over 40 will understand what I’m not saying.
Steve of course, only hears me screeching, and comes running out of the bedroom to see what was killing me. Needless to say, I turn my ire on him, particularly since he insists on calling the offenders bees. These are not bees. They are good-for-nothing yellow jackets.
By this time, I’m in the bathroom taking care of the rest of the morning business, and trying to figure out how to make my poor throbbing toe feel better. I can’t really find the sting, so a meat tenderizer paste is out. I finally decide that I’m just going to have to settle for ice. So, I cool it down for a little bit with and ice pack. At some point in there, Steve comes down and tells me he has killed a total of 7 bees. I inform him, perhaps a bit forcefully, that there are no *&^%&*) bees in this house. OK, perhaps I was still a bit irate and irritated. Fortunately for the state of our marriage, Steve thinks I’m cute when I’m angry, and once he started trying not to smile, I couldn’t help it either, and the steam was all blown off.
Then he set off another bug bomb in the attic to kill the last of the stragglers. I’m still a bit leery of running around the house without at least slippers, but it’s been three whole days now without any sightings, so I think I’m safe for a while.