We have wasps! Lots of wasps!...

Lots of crispy, crunchy dead wasps!

That’s right, bitch! I smoked ‘em!

(Which is in no way saying that I rolled them in paper and, lit them on fire, and inhaled them… though it has been a while since my last real good evening of smoking. I mean, I had two last week but that was nothing compared a whole night of scotch and smokes… um… but I digress…)

You see, Vicky and I had these nice decorations on our patio. We hung these pretty, paper lights (each one a colored globe of paper with a light in the middle) from our patio umbrella and also put up a nice, wooden, wind chime that bro-in-law Mike had given us from Hawaii. (Which is not to say we were too lazy to pick up our own when we were in Hawaii. Not at all. We were too cheap.)

We first noticed the wasps sometime in August. I know because I think that’s the last time we sat out on the patio for dinner. Occasionally, I’d muse about how wasps love wood (the tree kind, you pervert) and how they’re probably setting up a nest inside the wooden wind chimes and, a bit more occasionally, Vicky would muse about how I oughta get off my fat, lazy ass and do something about them. Ah, wives.

Then, as I was sitting on the patio one day, I noticed a wasp actually go into the wind chime. Could I be right, I wondered? So, I walked underneath the chime and put my face beneath it.

Here’s a tip. If you think a wind chime is filled with wasps, DO NOT put your face beneath it!

Turned out it was filled with wasps and I ran like hell, leaving a brown, runny trail. Thankfully, they were domestic wasps and were too busy complaining about the price of bee honey, really good bee honey, not the shit that gets you killed.

Don’t worry, I told Vicky. Being an old pro at wasp eradication… what? What do you mean, you don’t believe me? Listen, when I was a kid, growing up in Santa Ana, I was a wasp hunter, baby. (That and my mom and older brother wouldn’t do it… dammit…) It’s simply a matter of taking a stick and knocking down the nest late at night when they’re less likely to attack… oh, and running the fuck away.

Of course, when the nest is inside a wind chime…

So, I waited a few days – or weeks if you hear Vicky tell it but what does she know – until I could stall no further and Vicky was making me sleep on the patio. I took a scissor and cut down the wind chime… and ran the fuck away. Then, it took me several more weeks to toss out the wind chimes… wait… have I thrown that away, yet?

So, all was good and happy again at Casa La Salle.

More or less.

Kinda.

See, the thing is, Vicky was out on the patio one day and saw more wasps hanging out on her paper lights… and ran the fuck into our screen door… and through it! Grace under fire, that’s my Vicky. But, as I’ve said, I’d have no purpose in that home if it wasn’t for pest eradication. It was time to take out the lights.

“Don’t worry,” I told my spazzing spouse. “I’ll just clip them down at night when the wasps are gone. It’ll be a breeze.” So, that night – or the next – hey, better late than never! – I went out with scissors in hand and clipped the ties that hung them up. I clipped one. I clipped the next. I clipped another. And then, Vicky pointed out the mass of wasps hanging out on the next light and we both ran.

The next day, Vicky bought some of that wasp spray you’ve heard so much about. It must be new… or my mom was fucking with me every time she handed me the stick and told me to go a’hunting.

“You might want to read the can,” Vicky told me.

“Read the - ? What the hell, woman? I’m a man. I don’t read no directions!” I gave the can a shake, held it up to the wasps…

“Overkill” is probably too tame a word for what happened. A thick, foamy stream covered the wasps and the lights and the umbrella and that patio table and the patio and the street and the next house over… but you can be goddamned sure there weren’t any fucking wasps!!!!

The next day, crunchy, dead wasps littered the patio table’s surface.

My work was done.

Now, who’s gonna fix this screen?