The kitchen is my sanctuary. I love to cook and that’s where you will find me most anytime I am at home.
The other night I was preparing dinner, and out of the corner of my eye I happened to see Satan’s spawn flying around the kitchen light.
In my mind, I was preparing for World War III. No cardio workout can compare to running around the kitchen with grease popping, a dog barking, a wasp flying around the kitchen and a 30-year-old slightly overweight man running around the kitchen frantically yelling at the wasp that today he would die.
I am severely allergic to wasps. I despise them and I feel like they are one insect we could deal without having. I was also traumatized as a child, when one of them stung me on the belly button, a memory that makes me cringe every time I see a wasp.
I decided to attack. Because if I didn’t I knew the little red booger would. So I go to the bathroom to find my hairspray can, return to the kitchen to find that he has disappeared. My chihuahua, Luna, is beside me ready to attack.
I am searching the kitchen, ready to end the worry of knowing that the little heifer was flying around somewhere ready to sink his stinger wherever he landed. And then I found him. In the kitchen window, with a friend. Yes, another one. Their red plump behinds ready to send me to the hospital.
“NOT TODAY,” I told myself. I gently pulled back the curtains, hairspray in hand and blasted that hard number five hold hairspray all over those little demons. But the thought hit me, that I hadn’t picked up anything to smash them with, and I didn’t have long for the hairspray to keep their wings from flying.
I thought fast and grabbed a spatula from beside the stove, turned around and they were gone. DARN! It was survival mode at that point. Poor Luna didn’t understand what was going on, so I put her in her kennel for fear of her getting stung. She continued barking, trying to protect me from the tiny evils that were trying to take over my kitchen.
I found the wasps, in the window again and sprayed them, this time full blast and battle cry. One by one, I smacked the heck out of them with the spatula, all the while yelling out to any of their other friends that may have been watching that this is what death awaited them if they tried to be in my kitchen again. Smashed in a pool of sticky hair product. (Insert hysterical laugter here.)
I haven’t seen anymore of them, but that hairspray can and spatula (a.k.a wasp destroyer) are waiting on the counter if anymore of those red devils decide my kitchen is their hang out spot. And I will be making a trip soon to buy some wasp spray, but if you don’t have any, hairspray and a spatula can do the trick, too.
Just make sure the spatula is long enough to give you some escape time in case you miss.
Ben Marmolejo-Najera is The Henderson News’ graphic designer. His email is firstname.lastname@example.org.
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