Waspless Thursday

Waspless Thursday
I’ll probably regret saying this, because the little buggers are probably peering through the window behind me, watching me write this and laughing like hell. But. The wasps seem to have left. Knock on everything real and faux wood in the house.
Last night First Husband gave me that “Did you seriously polish off ALL the wine in the cupboard all by yourself” look when I asked him if he was ready to go spray the sleeping wasps. “No. I’m not going out there in the dark. I can’t see them.” His voice rose a good octave on that last one. He said he’d tackle them in daylight. 
This morning after First Husband left for work, I stood out in the driveway, about 20 feet from the wasp-infested fern and hosed it down. I had on my walking/run-like-hell-from- wasps sneakers. Nothing came out of the planter aside from the walking stick and a butterfly. Hmmm. 
So I got the wasp-killer-in-a-can spray and moved in. About ten feet from the planter I sprayed and got ready to dart. Nothing. Hmmm. 
When First Husband came home from work, he went out on the front porch to tackle the wasp nest. Armed with the spray and the info that I’d seen none, he kicked the planter, nothing. He kicked all the planters. Nothing. 
Two possibilities here. The wasps are laying low, regrouping, preparing for a new attack.  We have a forest out front. They could be hiding anywhere. 
Or they’ve moved to friendlier territory. 
Hmmm. Not hummmm. Hmmmm. 

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