I still cannot go to sleep without hearing their incessant buzzing.
Should I feel a breeze on my neck I start swinging frantically thinking I am being attacked by the swarm.
This paranoid state-of-mind is the result of my house being invaded by a swarm of wasps last week.
Let’s be clear, I am not understating the magnitude of this home invasion.
I discovered a nest under my front step and under the cover of darkness I sprawled along the ground and sprayed it with various types of chemicals, foams and pesticides before filling the hole with foam insulation.
That night I rested easy believing the issue was solved.
It was not. Somehow the pesky critters found their way into my basement.
Every five minutes my wife, mother-in-law or daughters were texting me, “I found another wasp!” “When are you going to be home? They are everywhere!”
When I would get home from work all the women in my life — and Lord love me there are a lot of them — would be huddled on the couch afraid to go near the basement door believing they would be “dive-bombed” by a barely alive wasp. They would give me the daily update on how many wasps they saw and where they were hiding out waiting to attack.
As a result, I spent each night on the couch in the basement on the look-out for the varmints. With a painted face, camo shorts, armed with a can of Konk, a Sports Illustrated magazine and a vacuum I waited. When I heard their buzz I struck with deadly accuracy.
Finally, I found their secret entrance and it has since been sealed. The home invasion thwarted I am again the king of my castle.
Whoa, did you hear that buzzing? Oh, its just one of the women in my house — another home invasion — better head back to the basement.
