​Spring. ​An innocent season filled with possibilities blended with the scent of renewal. ​My favorite time. ​

Stepping onto my backyard patio, I ​started washing away ​winter’s leaves and twigs with the garden hose.

As I sprayed, I noticed ​a few​ wasps hovering around the patio light​.

They didn’t seem angry, and feeling no animosity toward them, I continued the patio washing.

The sun shone on a few flower buds, the birds chirped​ and the wasps buzzed. All seemed right in the world.

Then it happened — a surprise attack, and an unnecessary one. Without any provoking ​from me, one crazed wasp, whom I nicknamed “Donald,” decided I was the enemy and declared war.

He was a fat wasp that swooped down, buzzing past my head like a fighter pilot.

I stood still, hoping he would send a tweet instead, “Stay away. My stinger is bigger than yours and it works.”

Then, seeing that I was no threat, he would logically fly off.

Donald buzzed by again, so I immediately ​pumped the air with my fists of fire and fury swatting at him.

Oh, I made a gallant stand, but​ Donald, this venomous villain, stung my left cheek near the jaw.​ ​

I am allergic to many things, but thankfully not an insect sting​, yet the pain — ​whoa!

A combo of an ice pack and some extra strength Tylenol eased my swollen, itchy red badge of courage.

During the recovery phase of planning my counter-attack, I read that ​a ​wasp​ stings but ​doesn’t die afterward. With bees, the venom bag is ripped from the abdomen when it stings, ​killing the insect​.

After a wasp stings, it goes on its merry way back to ​spreading pollen ​and other wasp duties.

A friend suggested I leave the​m alone, but I had a blood-thirst for revenge.

The next day ​I attacked ​their nest ​ at dawn — OK, it was 9:30 a.m., but the idea was the same. I spray foamed ​it with a special insecticide for wasps.

I’m certain Donald’s photo was on the can’s label with a menacing sneer.

Spraying the foam like a machine gun,​ I showed no mercy, not even to the wasps​ that didn’t attack me.​

When the fog of war had lifted, ​I saw Donald’s fat wasp carcass​ among the other​ wasps’ bodies​ scattered​ on​ my clean patio​.

Yes, victory is sweet, because there was no way I was going to turn the other cheek.

Val Valdez is a Herald correspondent.

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