There is no doubt about it. Wasps are the biggest wankers on the planet. They have absolutely no purpose on this earth. The don’t have any use at all and the world would not suffer if they suddenly went extinct. The sooner the better.
Yes, you’ve probably guessed by now that I do not like wasps. It could be considered a phobia. I don’t know where this fear stemmed from, only that for as long as I can remember I have hated the bastards. They have terrorised family days out, holidays and outdoor eating. They have even figured out where I work and followed me there too. They can sense fear and they love it. They feed off it. Just like the monster from Jeepers Creepers; if you fear it, it will chase you and eat you.
And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, there are hornets!! There is just no need. I first came across them when I was on a camping holiday in Wales with my family. There I was just innocently swinging on a swing and it came at me. A wasp on steroids. Huge. Ginormous. WHAT THE HELL WAS THIS? Someone who worked on the campsite told us there were hornets about. A new form of terror to face.
When it comes to wasps, you do hear a lot of lies from people:
“Stay still, it won’t hurt you.”
“Don’t bother it, it won’t bother you.”
“It’s more scared of you than you are of it.”
“They only sting when they’re angry.”
Absolute bullshit, all of it. Especially that last one. When I got stung (when I was ten years old), I was barely moving, I wasn’t bothering it, it was not scared of me and it was not angry. It just came at me out of nowhere. I was minding my own business and it got me, right on the finger. I didn’t even see it, I felt it and knew immediately what it was. The bastard got me. Struck me. Got me from behind like the devious devil it was spawned from.
The pain. Oh my god, the pain. I had felt nothing like it. And up until I gave birth last year, it was the most painful experience of my life. Some people might only feel a scratch, some maybe a slight sting. To me, it felt like my finger had been hacked off with a fork. And the swelling… my tiny, child finger suddenly resembled a chunky rolling pin. How can something so small cause such pain and trauma?!
I used to have the same fear for bees. After all, they also carry a powerful, painful weapon. Over the last couple of years, my fear has eased. I still don’t like them near me, but I can cope a bit easier. There have been a lot of campaigns on Facebook circling about how we need to save them. I get that. They have an important job. The other week, I saw a post about wasps. It was written to help us to understand wasps and why they appear angry later in the year. We need to sympathise and let them have their space, let them do their thing… how about have a word with yourself? What next? Wasp therapy? ‘It’s the end of summer, you’re going to die, try some Prozac to take the edge off. Go to a spa. Relax before you die a (hopefully) painful death.’
Wasps are pests. They’re bullies. We do not need to save them and you will not convince me otherwise. I long for the days where I can drive on a hot summers day with my windows down instead of the air conditioning, but if a wasp comes in my car I can’t promise there won’t be a disaster. I long for being able to eat outside without one trying to sneak in to my drink. I long for an October where I’m not constantly on the lookout for kamikaze wasps trying to unleash pain before they succumb to their fate! Roll on November!