Waiting for My Real Life to Begin

The life and times of a girl named Swishy.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

The day the Swishy (almost) died

One of the perks of the new place is my halfway-decently sized balcony. Unfortunately, about 1.3 seconds after I moved in, I realized said perk also came along with a nest full of lots of little bees.

For two weeks, the bees and I managed to coexist. I'd throw some empty boxes onto the balcony and shut the door before they could fly inside. But I want to USE my balcony! For something more than box storage! And since I'm the one who pays the rent, I win.

So I began to form my plan of attack. Someone told me to spray the bees and run. Someone else told me to knock down the nest and (you guessed it) run. No one wanted anything else to do with it.

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to get brave.

Cue scene.

I grab my mop handle, open the sliding glass door and commence a 10-minute two-steps-forward, two-steps-back dance that culminates in me deciding that I am MUCH too much of a wuss to knock the nest down with the mop handle. It is a hot day, and the bees look PISSED about it. They are SWARMING. (Oh, and did I mention that I'm allergic to bee stings? Yeah. I'm allergic to bee stings.)

I move on to Plan B, which involves me rummaging around my apartment for something heavy enough (but unbreakable) to throw. I settle on a Downy ball. Approximately 18 heaves later, my downstairs neighbor begins investigating the thumping and rattling coming from above. (FYI: A bouncing Downy ball is a LOUD THING.) I switch to Plan B 1/2, a lotion bottle. It only takes two or three tosses for me to realize it ain't gonna happen.

I dart out to recover my weapons of bee destruction and that's when I see it: ANOTHER bees' nest in the opposite corner! There are two! These bees are totally mocking me! If I give in now, how long before they're hanging out on the couch and stealing the remote? I was going to give up, but now I can't. I won't.

I retrieve the mop handle and hover by the door. I'm going for the second nest first--it's just a few steps away. I take a step forward, then back, forward, then back. My neighbor across the courtyard has come out on his balcony and has become mesmerized by the scene unfolding before him. He doesn't know what, exactly, is going on, but he knows it involves a deranged girl waving around a metal mop handle. Ha ha, very funny. Wait until the deranged girl's slumped over, grotesquely swollen, gasping for her last breath. That'll be HILARIOUS!

In a burst of self-pride, I poke the nest and throw myself inside. It's a direct hit! The nest is going down! Victory is mine! Whooooooooo!

I can't handle anymore right now. I put away the mop handle and get myself a reward cookie.

Fast-forward nine hours. It's 2:30 a.m. I've just gotten home and I decide to check on the other nest. All appears quiet. This could be the perfect opportunity! But it's dark, and I'm tired, and that's no way to go into battle. I go to bed.

Many hours later, I roll out of bed with renewed conviction. Those bitches are MINE! I don't get dressed. I don't brush my teeth. Instead, I head straight for the mop handle. I slide open the door and, ohhhh boy, there's just one single little bee minding the nest. I can handle one bee, right? RIGHT? I tell myself yes, and before I can change my mind, I lunge out, jab the nest and stumble back inside, screaming the whole time (something like: "Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!")

The bee zips around, but it's too late. The nest is DOWN! I feel a tiny bit bad for it (all the other bees will be like, "We leave you alone for FIVE MINUTES to watch the place, and THIS is what happens?"), but I'm more euphoric than anything. Who's your queen bee NOW?!?!?

Next: world domination.


At 11:43 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

You could have saved a lot of trouble by just getting some bee/wasp/hornet spray and sprayed the nest around dusk. But then the story wouldn't have been as good.

At 1:08 PM, Anonymous Eileen said...

I was also going to point out that there are professionals who do this. I remember as a kid my mom going out one fine summer morning in two pairs of pants, two sweaters, a giant puffy coat, scarf, hat, towel on her head and whacking the shit out of a hornet nest. Ah memories.

At 3:40 PM, Blogger Manic Mom said...

You goof.

You go get that can of hornet spray anon suggested, spray the hell out of it until it is dripping so much it looks like it's raining in one spot off your deck, but the rain smells peculiarly like bug spray. Then you watch as all the little fuckers fall flat out dead from the next.

And another reason you and I are kindred souls meant to become lesbians if we ever chose to go that way: I also am allergic to stings.

At 9:29 PM, Blogger Swishy said...

HA! Lesson of the day, kids: Swishy is a dumbass.

Although it was so worth hearing the story of Eileen's mom dressed to kill! What a visual! HA HA.

MM, you CRACK me UP!!

At 12:41 PM, Blogger Andie said...

my husband does the spray thing about 20 times a summer because they LOVE our pool deck.

Good Lord.

Glad you got the little buggars

At 2:45 PM, Blogger Bugwit Homilies said...

Good story!

The great thing about the spray stuff is that it shoots like 20 feet, so you can stay at a cowardly distance. No wasp flies after getting some of that stuff on them, either!

Sorry to polute the pot-pourri atmosphere with a little testosterone....


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