THE WASP: PART 2

Disclaimer:  If you have not read the previous blog entry:  The Wasp,  this  one will mean absolutely nothing to you.  Might as well skip it.


Well, there's a fact checker in every crowd.  Here I was having a poignant moment with the only other living thing in the house, and I'm so moved I have to write an equally poignant story about the little creature.  A story full of pathos and subtext and symbolism and childhood angst.  I story of redemption and triumph over fear.   The "not a dry eye in the house" kind of story.  It flowed from my fingers into the computer at a time of day when I would normally not even think about blogging.  And yet, there it was.  The story of the wasp and how he came to give my lonely life new meaning.


Until the FACT CHECKER showed up.   Now in all fairness, the fact checker is a dear friend who is also a Master Gardener (most of my best friends are Master Gardeners.  How can this be?  I hate dirt, sweating, bugs, bending over, heat and anything that requires my undivided attention for more than about 8 minutes - how did I meet these people?).   She wrote to me soon after I posted the previous blog.   And in the spirit of full disclosure,  here are the facts.


The "boy" wasp in my house is not a boy, but a girl.  How MG knows this from a distance of 2,790 miles is beyond me.  But apparently she says that only female wasps live through the winter.  Now actually, that makes a lot of sense.  Of course the girls would be stronger.  Point taken.  I'm glad I didn't actually name him Frank. . .which I had considered.


Now, fact #2.   SHE (meaning the wasp) is being docile until spring when she will lay eggs.  At that point she gets a kind of waspish PMS which will mean that she and I will be unable to co-exist anywhere, particularly my bedroom.  I shared a bedroom with my sister for 18 years and it was a disaster!  After she (the wasp, not my sister) lays her eggs, I will eventually have many more wasps than I currently have.


Fact #3 - She CAN SO live outside, which is where she needs to be to build an outside nest.


So mea culpa, mea culpa for passing along such an abysmal load of misinformation.  What was I thinking?  


I guess my next step is to drive home tomorrow, find that little drama queen and stomp her into the ground, followed by burial at sea, aka my toilet.   It's the only way.


My thanks to my friends who care enough to set me straight.  If I want a companion I'll spare the next stink bug.


But I miss Frank already.