“There’s a house for sale in our neighborhood?” Mr. Wonderful said pouring a glass of water.
“Oh, they didn’t buy a house.”
“Are they renting?”
“Nope. They’re squatting.”
“Did you lose something, Harold?”
“My peace of mind.”
“I’ll let you know when if I find it,” I said.
“Hey, I saw a piece by your lemon tree.”
“How about: you have a mind?” He gave me a disparaging look. “Where’s your sense of humor?”
“When wasps make nests on the outside of my house, I don’t joke around.”
“Wasps have to live somewhere. And didn’t we build our houses in their territory?”
“You’ll see,” he said shuffling around the garage to continue his wasp nest inspection.
“You’re a thorough cleaner, Norma.”
“It’s the only way to get rid of the freeloaders.”
“No dear. The wasps. They build their nests in the tiniest nooks and crannies.”
“But they have to build their nests somewhere.”
“Sure. On someone else’s house,” she said returning to her aerial sweeping. “You should check your own house.”
“Welcome home, Mr. Wasp,” I said in a non-threatening, neighborly way. Both we and Nature need to live together. Just then a second wasp buzzed by on its way to the nest so I gently waved my arm to carefully steer it toward the nest when BAM! The wasp stung me! Right in the hand! Then BA-BAM! It stung me again! On the arm!
“Better you than me,” Mr. Wonderful said as he laid bags of frozen blueberries on my swollen hand and arm.
“I love your sympathy.”
“It’s just, I’m allergic to wasps.”
Summertime and the liven' is wasp free...