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 them 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.