The Unwelcome Guest

So, there I was sitting in the upstairs bathroom, minding my own business. One might say that all was well with the world. Sunlight streamed in through the window, kitties pawed at the closed door, silence otherwise ruled the tranquil halls. While perusing an improving book—1 Macabees if you want to know—I detected a motion out the corner of my eye. It was a yellow jacket, or a wasp, in any case a yellow and black striped, long-bodied son-of-a-what-not of the hymenopteraian order.

It hovered there in the air by the towel hung on the back of the bathroom door. Now, I’m as gentle as the next fellow, and as sensitive to the right of all living things to coexist peacefully, but I must say, sitting there in a state rather vulnerable to the voracious nipping of a maddened insect, I felt an urge to smash, kill, and possibly maim. Unfortunately, my compromised position made me extremely susceptible to a counterattack should the initial wave of shock and awe fail.

I turned my mind to escape. Once free of the confines of the water closet, I could establish a plan of action in less trying times. So, as the menacing creature floated closer to my flaxen, in-need-of-a-tonsure, pate, I leapt from my seat, flung open the door, and dashed into the office with my jeans around my ankles. The kitties, surprised by my sudden outburst, flew down the stairs. After a quick semi-re-girding of the loins, I inspected the bathroom only to find no marauder. Well, thought I, before I go about killing intruders, I should finish what I’d started. So, I descended the stair, and ensconced myself in the downstairs bath to put all things aright before proceeding with the extermination.

Imagine my concern, when, upon taking my seat in the downstairs bath, I felt a slight tickle on my right calf. I could hardly bring myself to look down, but when I did, that blighted insect arose from my crumpled jeans and flitted to the window blind. I, not accustomed to flitting, lurched out of the bathroom, into the dining room, not caring a wit for my state of dress. A peek into the master bath confirmed that the bug was arranging itself on the blind. This cannot be! I thought. So, I quietly rolled up the issue of The New Yorker lying on the vanity, took two steps into the room and rapped that member of the Vespidae family a right sound blow to the head whereupon he swooned, fell to the floor, and wiggled a leg or two. I then finished the job with a well-placed tissue and deposited the corpse in the waste bin.

Though now safe to recommence my improving book, I found the mood irreparably altered. Perhaps a fresh cup of coffee with retore the nerves and return tranquility to the home.