Snapshots from Eldredge

The life and writings of TJ Alexian

Diary of a Rogue Wasp Warrior

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wasp

You can’t really see it, but it’s there. Second window to the right, in the upper left hand corner.

We noticed it about a week ago. It was about the size of a baby’s fist at the time. A wasp’s nest, attached to the outside of one of our front windows. Since then, it’s grown. Now it’s about the size of a baseball.

Shudder. Wasps. How I hate them! But then, I hate anything with a stinger (unless it has vodka in it. God bless you, Elaine Stritch). And Corb, he not only hates them, but he’s deathly allergic to them. Turns out he stepped on a bee’s nest not once but twice when he was a kid and his doctor has repeatedly warned him that if he gets stung again, he could go into anaphylactic shock. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.

That meant dealing with the wasp’s nest was up to me.

Not that Corb hasn’t given me helpful suggestions. Case in point: he wants me to dress up in a giant bee costume. “Then go over to the hive and pretend to be a friend. Tell them they have to see the really cool beehive in the backyard. Then when they are out, whack the hive down with a baseball bat! They won’t know what to do.”

Thanks, Corb. wasp 2

Surprisingly, it actually wasn’t the worst piece of advice we received. It’s kind of like the deer infestation thing, where people told us to sprinkle all sorts of crazy stuff around the plants, like human hair and dead deer blood, to keep Bambi away.

Jim, who is the boyfriend of Corb’s mom, was the worst. I was surprised, because he is a bit of an expert on everything. He’s about ninety years old, loves to travel. Will eat just about anything. I honestly thought he’d be able to help with this. But, no. His “guidance”: “Take a putty knife, see, and scrape the nest off quickly. Then make sure you have a big paper bag that it can fall into. Close the bag once the nest is in, really quickly. And then, you have to get rid of the bag, so either throw it in the woods or set it on fire.”

That’s the last time I listen to a world traveler who will eat just about anything. Let’s go over things I will absolutely never be doing with a live wasp nest, shall we?

  • First, moving close to it armed only with a putty knife.
  • Then, pissing off a bunch of wasps by detaching their home.
  • Next, dumping said home into a paper bag and trying to close it as they rise up, more than a little angry at me. Can you imagine me trying to crinkle that damn thing shut?
  • Then, sprinting into the woods to set the bag on fire. Screaming all the way.

I swear I’d burn the fucking forest down. And, I’m too much of a wimp. I cringe when my avatar gets stung by a bee in Animal Crossing. Bottom line: I’m not sure what Bizzarro universe this plan of attack is ever going to happen in.

“Just get an exterminator,” was Corb’s other suggestion. But no, I don’t see the need for that. This is something we should be able to handle on our own. We are big boys, now. We don’t need to throw money at everything.

So, it’s up to me. Sigh. I spent the whole day thinking about how to kill the bastards. What I needed to do. I carefully considered all the possible pitfalls. Ted against the wasps. Major stingage. Hundreds of insane insects converging down upon me, or finding a way into the kitchen, where they would pull an occupy Wall Street. Missing limbs. Carnage.

In the middle of a movie last night, I made a sudden whimpering noise.

“Are you scared?” Theo asked.

“No,” I replied. “Just thinking about the wasps.” He looked away.

And then, at ten at night, under cover of darkness, when all the wasps were sound asleep and dreaming of world domination. I sprang into action. I had Corb stand in the kitchen with a lantern, placed right near the wasp nest. Then I ran outside with Theo. Moved a few dozen feet away from the nest, can of wasp poison in hand. Then, I sprayed like crazy. Emptied out the whole bottle. And then, I ran like hell.

End result: the wasp nest is quiet today. I spy a few dead wasps on the bottom of the window sill. Mission accomplished?

Only time will tell.

Author: TJ Alexian

T.J. Alexian lives in Attleboro, Massachusetts in a renovated green Victorian, along with seven ghosts and his long-time (and long-suffering) partner. He also has three kids and one spiritual kid, and their stories and their spirit form the heart and soul of his novel, Pictures of You. A profiled author in the Writer's Digest book Writer with a Day Job and an award-winning communications specialist, Pictures of You is Alexian's first novel, although he has two more being prepared for distribution: The Late Night Show and Confessions of a Diva Rotundo. Pictures of You is a young adult thriller that combines Alexian's love for social media with the macabre. A ghost story for the dispossessed, the novel tells the story of a young girl haunted by events in her past that never seem to die. But more than that, the novel is about being heard, about giving voice to voices that don't fit the norm. Some that lack the courage...and some, that hide in the shadows.

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