Something To Chew On
April 23-29, 2018
The wasp rebuttal
By Becca Bona
becca@dailydata.com
The sun’s rays woke me earlier than usual on that particular Sunday morning. I knew immediately that I was the only one awake by the stock still silence that was uncharacteristic of my childhood home.
My sister and I were both under the age of eight, plus the house was all too prone to the garish symphonies of creaks and groans emanating from the walls of a house age-unknown.
I got up and stretched, opening the six half-shutters that covered my windows before heading to the bathroom.
After all, the first thing one does after a full-night’s sleep is usually relieve oneself, and this morning was no different for me … except for the rogue wasp that happened to be nesting in the toilet bowl.
I let out a howl louder than a ambulance siren, and proceeded to wake up the entire house. My parents hurriedly rushed to the bathroom from their room and discovered me – jumping from foot to foot with my hands clasped over my bottom – while big tears jostled my other set of cheeks.
“What happened?!”
“Bec, are you ok?”
Even my younger sister had brushed the sleep out of her eyes with nothing more than my alarming scream.
“I’m dying,” was all I could muster, as my derriere felt a sharp pain that I’ve only experienced a total of three more times in my life – a wasp sting. What’s more, it turns out I’ve got an allergic aversion to the flying stingers of doom.
I spent the rest of the day on my tummy, my bottom covered in ice, downing Benadryl while my right cheek swelled to thrice its size.
Needless to say, I wasn’t all that amused.
Neither would I be nearly eleven years later when I was on campus at Hendrix College as a freshman. I was celebrating Earth Day (April 20, which strangely enough, was around the time of my first sting), out on the lawn, tie-dying a shirt.
As I went to pick up my bright, white shirt, a wasp got me on my shoulder. More than one Benadryl later, I decided to get my nose pierced, because my friends and I wagered a bet about how many piercings I could take in one day.
Yet again, I was less than amused, although I thought my new piercing was kind of cute.
The other night I went to my parents to borrow my Dad’s bike. I was excited to try my hand at cycling the River Trail, a first for me. I headed to the shed, singing a tune to myself through the frigid air, when I found the bike. All seemed well until I turned back around to the screen door, only to see six wasps clinging to it.
I almost quit breathing, as horror overtook me. I let out a few hoarse yelps, realizing I was trapped. I danced from foot to foot in a frozen fear before scrambling for my cell phone and begging my Mom to save me.
“Becca, you do know that it’s too cold for them to fly, correct?” she asked me gently, as I hobbled out of the shed, nearly hyperventilating in the process.
“What?”
“They’re stunned. When it’s below a certain temperature, they can’t fly,” she said, a small smile creeping around her lips.
So, dear readers, here are two PSAs.
Do not, I repeat do not, sit on a toilet bowl without first checking for rogue wasps, snakes and other critters. This is the American South, and you never know what could be waiting for you.
If you have an allergy or aversion to something, take the time to learn all you can about it. For instance, I now know that wasps die off when temperatures dip below freezing … (at least the males, do).
Also, one who is scared of wasps is called a spehksophobe. For now, Wasps 4, Becca 0 – that is – until the next rebuttal.
