Ryan and I have an agreement -- I take care of things on the inside, and he takes care of things on the outside. Yes, yes, I realize that it is a very 1950's division of labor, and that Gloria Steinem will bitch slap me if we ever meet, but it's really the best situation for us. Ryan hates vacuuming and the smell of lemon pledge, and nothing makes me more uncomfortable than dirt in my shoes or under my nails. We really only trade off on two things: laundry (which Ryan has insisted on doing ever since I magically made a load of his shirts two sizes smaller and pink using just hot water and a red rag), and insect removal (because I like bugs).
When I say "I like bugs" I am not talking in a weird, little kid, entomologist kind of way. I don't have a collection of potato bugs munching on leaves in a jar in my kitchen, and I don't have to identify the species and genus of every creepy crawlie around me. I like them in the whole "I wouldn't want to be squished either" way. I figure, if they aren't harming me, I shouldn't be harming them. I mean, unless they are box elder bugs, and then they are SO DEAD! Little fuckers, thinking they can just take over my house, I'll show them! Sorry, digression. Ryan is more of a "kill 'em all" person when it comes to insect control, so you can see why I like to get to them first, if for no other reason than to keep our karma in tact. Of course, before this weekend I had never come up against something like this...
Yep, that's a wasp's nest, right on my front porch. Of course, wasps are nothing new around our house, since the fruit trees make it a paradise for them. We've even had to deal with their dwellings before, but they have been of the much smaller, apartment home variety.
See, those are easy to deal with. You can see if there are any wasps in them, and act accordingly. However, with a nest you can't be sure if anyone is home, or if they are going to come out and sting you to death when you knock on the door. Ryan said I shouldn't worry about it, that he would get some spray, which immediately made me put any fear aside and try and get rid of the nest humanely. After all, if Jesus is currently reincarnated as a wasp I would rather he be mad at me for making him homeless, than ending his life.
Saturday night when Ryan went out, I went to work. I put on jeans, a long sleeve shirt, a hat, and sunglasses. Then I tied a bandanna across my face, and grabbed the broom. I looked like I was from the Eazy E cleaning service, but I didn't care, it was wasp moving day.
I wish I could tell you it was all dramatic, but really, the only interesting thing was my outfit. I walked out on the porch. I knocked the nest down. One wasp flew out, and very anxiously and angrily flew around before taking off. I was sure he would be coming back with reinforcements, but I think he just found another place to live. A couple hours later I went out and sprayed the area with liquid soap to keep the wasp from rebuilding (thanks Mom!), picked up the nest and put it in a plastic bag so Amaya can take it to school. Dullsville.
Now the only thing I have to deal with are the ants on the sidewalk. Not nearly as exciting... I mean, unless radioactivity somehow makes them super ants. But that probably won't happen.