We live in the city, so in the summer time we can confidently have screen-free doors and windows flung wide. Typically the worst thing brought in by the wind is a choir of thick drunken “WOOOOO’s!” that float up from a club’s exit in the alley around the corner.
Unlike the suburbs where I grew up, insect intruders are few and far between. Or maybe they know that just because I have lived in the city for 8 years, I still have that no-nonsense suburbs sensibility.
To be clear: if you have more than 2 legs and I didn’t expressly invite you into the home I pay for, prepare to die.
On the rare occasion that a wayward insect groggily hums into our place, once I have acute awareness of the winged S.O.B., any and all activities I am entrenched in are dumped. I am on my feet with Rambo blood cursing through my veins and a rolled up magazine welded to my right palm before my laptop has a chance to hit the carpet.
Here’s how I transform from a mild-mannered middle-aged Mom to the Exterminator.
1. Ask Siri “do wasps serve any homesteading purpose?” just to make sure I’m not accidentally deleting strawberries from the Earth.
2. Siri responds “I’m not sure what you said.”
3. Type out furious tweet because Siri has never once in my goddamn life offered any assistance whatsoever, deem it not funny enough to post, and delete it in a huff.
4. Ask couch-dozing husband for help.
5. Urge him to “hurry.”
6. Impressively cat-like dodge the lasers emitting from his eyeholes.
7. Deem him too slow and apply black face paint under my eyes, which looks kind of cute. Cock head at reflection, debate whether I should cut my hair short again.
8. Emerge from bathroom with renewed passion, track wasp with wartime intensity, entice it out from behind the blinds and smash it hard with National Geographic for Kids, which is probably not what those wasp huggers over there were envisioning happening to their publication.
9. Yelp as the wasp, clearly not deceased, flies right towards my face, wearing a Bloods bandana, hissing and holding it’s two dangling broken legs aloft.
10. Feel the sweat seep through my tank top and swear loudly enough to stir sleeping neighbourhood dogs.
11. Watch the wasp dive-bomb the one corner of the living room boxed in by 3 lamps, a heavy shelf, a landline phone, cords and 87 Playmobil accessories
12. Pretend that the wasp is now most assuredly dead back there and sit down to relax for 17 seconds.
13. Clench fists as husband offhandedly remarks the wasp is now in full Mel Gibson revenge mode.
14. Envision my 4-year-old innocently playing on our deck the next day until a posse of wasps swarm her and fly right down her tender baby throat.
15. Whisper under my breath, “NO WAY, SUGAR TITS. Not on my watch.”
16. Try to flatten my body against the wall, like I’m a paperback novel, to see behind the shelf because maybe for once in my life something went right and it’s actually dead.
17. See only unidentifiable chunks of dust and dust mites and their babies that immediately float into my eyes and ensure I will be blind by morning.
18. Spend 15 minutes finding the flashlight on my phone.
19. Aim the light into the corner and HAHA! Spot the wasp muttering and moaning and whittling its stinger into something the size and sharpness of an epidural needle.
20. Beg husband to help me move the shelf.
21. Stand back and prepare to have vagina melted off while watching the valour.
22. Husband moves shelf then uses a fancy magazine to help usher the wasp out the deck door with moves so subtle and virile it’s like Cirque De Soleil is in my living room.
23. Wasp makes a break for it at the last possible second and flies back to its death corner
24. Ignore the look on husband’s face and blurt “WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST KILL IT?”
25. Asked to leave the room, I slink out.
26. Kind of leave the room but clearly loiter in the vicinity so I can lightly hop from foot to foot and supervise.
27. Do a weird jumpy dance when husband whips the wasp onto a wide windowsill beside the deck door.
28. Do 76 fist pumps as husband, successfully converted to Team Murder Business, smacks the fancy magazine down on the wasp with heft and vigour.
29. Tag in and immediately grab a heavy puzzle board and slam it down on top of the fancy magazine.
30. Immediately then smash fist down hard twice on top of puzzle board on top of fancy magazine.
31. Cautiously lift all the weaponry to confirm the time of death as 9:57 pm AWKDST (Awesome Wasp Killer Duo Standard Time).
32. Gather half a roll of toilet paper around my hand like a homeless glove and gently gather wasp carcass, because I don’t know how wasp afterlife works and that piece of shit could already be back as a ghost and have some juice left in that stinger.
33. Throw death bundle into the deck garbage.
34. Start smoking again.
35. Exhale and dramatically bring phone to face to ask Siri “Who is the Grand Overlord Queen of A Bug-Free Apartment?”
36. Ignore husband clearing his throat.
37. Siri responds, “You, Brooke Takhar, I believe the answer is you.”