Stupid God’s Creature

by good2begone


Nothing makes one feel less masculine than having your wife watch as you flail your arms aimlessly to avoid an object the size of a quarter…..with wings and a stinger.

Backstory first.

Along with having 2 funerals to prepare for and attend, we are also taking care of feeding a friend’s dogs while they are on a weekend getaway. As we approach the front door, I notice a few wasps are creating a nest directly over it. Its like summertime mistletoe that you never want to be stuck under. We go inside and do our duty as dog watchers and prepare to leave. As the front door locks shut, I say to my wife (as I do my best Clark Kent is about to rip off his tie and button up shirt to reveal the grandiose large red S underneath)-

“Go wait in the car, honey. I must rid this dwelling of the stinging beasts to prevent children from getting hurt!”

She goes. As I hear the car door close, I look for my weapon of choice. I find a 3 foot branch that will have to work as my version of Excalibur. I confidently approach the hive. The 3 wasps stop and seem to get into “Flying V” formation. I take my first swing….strike 1!! They are not happy. I squeal like a schoolgirl, take a few steps back and prepare to strike again.

Second swing- I channel the ghost of Babe Ruth and aim for the fences.

Direct hit! The hive tumbles to the ground. 2 of the wasps are dazed and fly off in confusion.

1 of them is neither dazed nor confused.

It flies directly toward me and lands on the bridge of my nose. Eyes UP…Ass DOWN. He plunges the stinger into my schnozzola.

Here is where I repeat my first sentence.

Nothing makes one feel less masculine than having your wife watch as you flail your arms aimlessly to avoid an object the size of a quarter…..with wings and a stinger.

The second the stinger hits. I react by slamming my left palm to my nose. My wedding band hits square on the center of the target. My eyes fill with water. My obviously non protective sunglasses go flying. I rush to the closed window of the vehicle where my wife awaits and scream.

“It stung my on my nose! Right here on my nose!”

I leave my sunglasses where they lie. Hang my head low. Button back up my shirt. Vowing to never let Clark Kent take charge again. I enter the vehicle, sit down and calmly ask my wife-

“can you pass me a tissue. He stung me on my nose…..stupid God’s creature.”

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