As I was leaving the bathroom this morning, I caught site of a large black thing on the blinds over the bathroom window. I stopped and looked and then froze. It was a wasp. I suffer from apiphobia and spheksophobia (though I tend to refer to them both as apiphobia), so this was not exactly a welcome sight. There I am, in my skivvies, staring down my nemesis.
I decided to retreat to the bedroom for the moment and finished dressing. I looked around for some way to kill the vile creature from afar—a quarterstaff, a shotgun, or a tank, perhaps—but nothing presented itself. Gathering my courage, I returned to the bathroom. The wasp had not gone far; it seemed content to crawl along the blinds. At least it wasn’t airborne.
I resolved to try and kill it with just a handful of toilet paper, the only obvious weapon at my disposal. But then I caught sight of what may as well have been a flaming broadsword, sent as a gift from ancient gods. The new, still-uninstalled shower rod I purchased when we first moved-in stood in the corner of the bathroom, resting against the wall.
I made my way over to the blessed weapon, handling it like a flat-ended spear. Carefully, I brought the end ever-closer to the black-bodied beast. It paused in its movements and seemed to look at me from its wicked head, antennae held completely still as though daring me to try something under its deadly gaze. I faltered and pulled the rod back. The wasp continued to stare, and then giving me up for a coward, continued crawling.
This hesitation proved to be fortunate. I realized that the wasp had previously been too low and had I stabbed out, I would have missed anything solid and been attempting to stab against the screen. This would have either resulted in a punctured screen or an angry wasp. Neither of these was desirable, especially since the former could lead to more wasps and the latter would lead to pain.
But as it continued to crawl, it moved upward to a portion of the blinds backed by the solid window frame. Now was my moment. I moved my makeshift lavatorial spear closer, the flat and murderous end cap hovering perhaps 2″ above the wasp. With a decisive thrust, I stabbed out.
The wasp was dead.
To some, this entire blog post is about killing a nearly-brainless creature 1/80,000th my size. To anyone with apiphobia, this will rather clearly be an epic tale on par with Siegfried.