The Great White Huntress

Warning: graphic pictures may be upsetting to some people.

Well, if you dislike photos of ugly upper arms, anyway.

The story goes, on Saturday I decided to be daring and spontaneous and rid us of the recently-discovered nest of yellow-jackets that had taken up residence in a corner of the greenhouse.

So I grabbed the hoe (in my best Indiana Jones imitation) and bravely knocked the nest to the ground.

Yellow-jackets flew out of the greenhouse door, but I ran as-fast-as-a-rabbit over to the house and was none-the-worse for it. 

Too many hyphens?

A little later, I found the killer spray and aimed it right at the corner, where the insects were congregating and (I assume) were planning their rebuilding strategy. 

This made them very angry and they buzzed a little louder and the ones that weren't lying on the ground in the throes of death flew at me, but I escaped yet again.

Angry, stinging insects: ZERO.

Great White Huntress: EVERYTHING.

Behold, the site of the former nest.

Well.

I was feeling pretty cocky and bragged just a tad on facebook.

You know how it is. A body has to celebrate the small victories, right?  Because life can knock us down in a heartbeat. 

My friend, Marissa, happened to mention that she was the proud owner of some kind of buzzy stinging insect nest by her front door, and her husband is out of commission for a while. Like the stupid brave-hearted soul that I am, I told her that I would bring my hoe and can of wasp killer and rid her of the beasts.

Well.

I walked over to her house and was surprised by the fact that this was not a yellow-jacket nest. It was a ground-dwelling, mud-slinging nest of wasps. 

Now, if I had done my research. I would have known that wasps are much more aggressive than yellow-jackets when their nest is attacked, and that this is a particularly bad time of year for said aggression.

But I hadn't done my research.

So I attacked that little nest with my trusty hoe and the wasps came after me and I ran very fast and got away.

The mud nest was not as easy to dismantle as I expected, so I tried the spray.

Which was all used up.

So I tried the hoe again, only those little wasps must have remembered me and this time they attacked with a vengeance. I ran screaming across the lawn as the wasps flew up my skirt and in my hair and up my blouse, stinging me multiple times. I ran into the open garage door where Marissa and her boys were hiding hanging out and ripped off my blouse, modesty thrown to the wind. There were several wasps between the layers of clothes and I was slapping my skin and shaking my clothes and trying to get them all off my body. The pain from the stings was intense, so it was hard to tell whether I was still being stung or if it was just existing wounds.

We decided to call a truce with the wasps and wait to get some spray, and as I was standing talking to Marissa a dead wasp fell out of my skirt.

Awesome.

I walked home, carrying my hoe, and felt like I still had wasps in my clothes, but figured it was just the pain of the stings. When I got home, I scurried into the bedroom and ripped off my clothes and out flew....a wasp. 

My skin crawls as I think about it.

That wasp settled on the mirror and I squashed it dead with a copy of Martha Stewart Whole Living.

I knew those magazines would come in handy some day.

Great White Stupid Huntress: about ten stings.

Wasps: one slightly damaged nest, which they are now rebuilding.

Most of the stings were on my upper arms, which are not attractive at the best of times, and there are others on the back of my neck, stomach, and leg. The stung areas swollen and red and are now at the itchy stage.

More awesome.

Jon said, when I told him my sad story, that I should have called him because he has obliterated many nests of stinging insects. 

Too late, I said.

He also said that pouring rubbing alcohol on the nest at night would do the job.

Did you get that, Marissa?