WW II and We Have a Winner

Wasp Wars on Again
8 September 2010 
A lone attacker got me today. This time I was sweeping the porch, which is apparently offensive, or was, to this particular yellow jacket. The little bugger got me in the leg. 
I swatted him off, and swept him into the garden. Then I high-tailed it into the house to take some Benadryl. 
I hate antihistamines. They make me wonky. It’s been nine hours and my leg still hurts, a Lot! I’m losing my appreciation for wasps. How am I supposed to water the porch plants, sweep off the leaves, or even sit at the table while the wasps lay in wait? I saw a shark -bite suit, made of chain mail or something. I wonder if that comes in a size short and fluffy? 
The electrician told me about a wasp killer gel. It’ll stick to stuff to convince the wasps to go away. I’ll check. As long as it has a 27-foot spray distance, we’re good. 
It’s Prince Consort
8 September 2010
Well, the votes are in. Mine mostly. First place for a clever nomen for my husband went to JM’s suggestion- ‘The (insert first name here)’. However, since First Husband is already overwrought at seeing himself in my blogs, using his first name might put him over the edge. I’m all about torturing him, but even I have limits. 
So second place won. Prince Consort. He earned this one all by his little self. Lately he’s found himself to be uproariously funny when he answers my requests (which are naturally always reasonable and wise) with “Yes, my Queen.” Followed by rapping his left fist twice on his chest. 
For him, pushing my buttons is too rich an opportunity to pass up, even if I give him my sister’s patented Look. This is the intent silence that warns: ‘Are you sure you want to do that/ ask that question/ say that?’ For the wise, there are only two correct answers. “No, Ma’am. I apologize.” Or Run. Run fast. Very fast. My sister may look like a model, but don’t fool with the ex-Army captain.  
Okay, I see the problem. I’m five foot and one half inch. He’s nearly six feet tall. He’s counting on out running me. I may have to ramp up the daily fast-walking into some jogging or sprints. He’s got a bad knee. Sprints will do it. 
The Prince Consort is off his game a bit. Since I printed out the blogs and let him see his name in laser print, he’s been a touch paranoid. From time to time, when he notices that I’m back in my office at my computer, he gets edgy. He’s even put down the remote and peered in my office door to demand, “Are you blogging again!?” There’s a tiny note of worry in his voice. Then he says, “Print the new ones out for me.” 
Yeah. Right. Three time rule here. He’s going to have to ask at least three times. Hopefully he’ll forget. I’m doing this to protect the Prince Consort. He’s getting way too paranoid about what I’ll write. Please, we only need one paranoid in this realm. My title by genetics and years of practice. And I have proof ‘they’ are after me. The wasp attacks! uh huh. Another one today.
 Wait. If ‘they’ really are out to get me, it’s not paranoia. And they are. I have the new wasp sting to prove it! 
Queen Kath. 


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