The Girl, the Wasp, the American Flag and the Toilet Plunger...a tragic and true story.

One fine fall afternoon, our heroine, we shall call her "M," decided that it would be a good thing if she and her two reluctant children went out into the world and made it a more beautiful place. And so M led the children to the front yard where they proceed to whine about how they would prefer not to make the world a more beautiful place.  Deals and counter offers were presented, bribes were mentioned briefly and a payment plan was finally agreed upon. In exchange for their lives, the children would help with the outdoor chores! The boy would gladly rake the leaves and the girl...oh that girl...would, albeit most resentfully, help with the garbage can relocation and sanitization.  

And so the work commenced with only a small amount of whining.  Well, the small child whined while the larger child worked.  Self-preservation was strong in the boy-child today, M thought with quiet satisfaction. The cans were disgusting in the way that only garbage cans can be..."Plenty of forensic evidence here." M said out loud to no-one in particular. Soap was poured, water was sprayed and things were starting to look pretty terrific.

Midway through the scouring of the rubbish cans M said to the small one, "Please, stop the whining and bring me the two sad, neglected mumms from the front of the porch.  We shall water them and they shall be so suprised that they will NOT die.  What do you say little one?"  "I don't wanna." She said in the whiniest of whines. She begrudgingly retrieved two of the abused plants but would not go get the third and fourth plants.  "Besides (still whining) I saw a beeeeeee."  M tried to remain calm "Honey, it is not interested in you at all.  Please just go get the plants and then you can water them."  But the child would not be moved.  

In the end the boy-child, much motivated by the promise of both life and coin, offered to retrieve the aforementioned plants.  M watered the plants without incident. The driveway was raked and the leaves bagged.  The garbage cans were maggot free and life was good.  The girl-child had even offered to bring in the cushions from the porch in order to get them ready for storage for the quickly approaching winter months.  In addition, the girl-child brought out a step-stool so that M could take down all 8 of the American flag buntings from the porches...you know...those red, white and blue swags of fabrics you see festooning older homes and businesses especially around the 4th of July...It now being October, M proceeded to remove the buntings, for washing and storage.  M was feeling pretty good about her accomplishments today.  After all, the last time she had taken down the flag buntings was...um...never! In fact, they had been in place for at least the last two years...spring, summer, fall, and winter...Filled with happy thoughts of putting up lovely, laundered buntings again in the spring filled M's little heart up with joy.

Now, Dear Reader, this is where the story changes from a lovely, bucolic tale of fall in a small town.  Up until this point there has only been a small amount of unpleasant whining but really, that is nothing to worry about.  M doesn't worry about it nor should you.  But everything is about to change.  You have been warned. Cue the foreboding music.

M is feeling pretty proud of herself as she puts away the step-stool, the soap and the sponge.  She tucks all 8 of the buntings under her arm and heads upstairs to her lovely, new laundry room.  M has no idea that her beautiful day is about to turn into a horror story.  M passes through the new master bathroom and drops the buntings on the laundry pile for a moment.  She then realizes that she needs to...um...use the facilities. (Sorry if this is too much information however, it is integral to the story.) So she does so.  M lifts the knob on the top of the toilet.  The new toilet does not have the standard flush lever you might find on most toilets...but like most toilet flushing mechanism, if one does not hold the lever down....or in this case pull the knob and bar all the way up...well, with low-flow toilets sometimes the bowl doesn't get a complete flush...and this of course, is what happened. Everything seems to go down OK but only half the water goes down before the flush stops.  M cleans up and steps into the laundry room.

M reaches down an picks up the red white and blue fabric and she stuffs seven of the buntings into the washer.  M bends to pick up the eighth bunting when..."FUCK!" "What was that???" M cried as her right pinky finger let her know that something bad had indeed just happened.  "There must have been a screw or a safety pin in the bunting...Ouch, that really hurts."  As she bends to retrieve the wayward bunting and her finger begins to burn, she sees it. THE LARGEST and ANGRIEST WASP in the NORTH COUNTRY.  "Oh CRAP!, the little girl was right...but it wasn't a bee on the porch..."  M realizes that her finger has turned a hot, bright red and is starting to swell AND that the wasp is getting more agitated! M tosses a towel over the wasp and stomps down. The pain in her finger is bad enough that she runs to the sink and runs cold water over the injured digit...but now the wasp crawls out, completely unharmed...and she is PISSED OFF!  I, I mean M, runs to the pocket door between the bath and laundry rooms and quickly closes it...but soon realizes that the wasp is trying to fly and M knows it is just moments until the damned insect flies out of the laundry room! The wasp rises up and toward M.  M let's out a shriek! The wasp sort of makes a drunken u-turn toward the window.  In a panic, and sure that she is going into anaphylactic shock, M tosses another towel on the wasp at the window sill and smashes down again. Again the damned thing WILL NOT DIE.  M frantically pounds and pounds the towel into the window and sill and finally...finally the wasp appears to be slightly mangled.  

M is NOT going into anaphylaxis, however, the pinky has swollen to the size of a large olive and has developed its own heart beat.  The pulsing finger seems in danger of splitting wide open.  M knows she needs to get Benedryl, some sort of analgesic and ice right away...but she will not risk that the wasp will recover.  The wasp must be disposed of...and that is when the bad idea hits.  M will give the wasp a quick Viking Funeral...and so she drops it neatly into the toilet.

Perhaps the wasp neurotoxins had already reached her brain.  Maybe the pain endorphins clouded her reason...whatever was happening, there was no clear thinking going on at this point in our story. M reaches up and f l u s h e s the toilet. OH SHIT! (I could not resist the pun. Do not think ill of me.)  The water did not go down...in fact, neither did the body of the still twitching wasp.  What were these wasps made of???  M grabbed the plunger and set to work....but nothing moved...except the water in the sink...and that is when it happened...The wasp swirled around the handle of the plunger and nearly dragged itself up.  More panic ensued and then "The Unthinkable" happened.

You guessed it.

M flushed the comode AGAIN.

Now, Dear Reader, you are thinking, "Silly woman.  Everybody knows that if the first flush doesn't go down (even with plunging) you should NEVER, never flush the toilet a second time." And technically speaking this was the 2 and 1/2 time M had flushed the toilet. I will not repeat the string of epithets nor will I attempt to describe the dance one does as 2-3 gallons of poopy, wasp water cascades over the rim of the bowl and onto the bathroom tile and favorite wooly socks...nor will I tell you about the weeping or the frenzy of mopping or even about the final drowning of the damned wasp...What I will say is this. There is a reason that procrastination is so popular....PROCRASTINATION PAYS!.  If I had put off taking the buntings down until, say February...and though it would have been darned inconvenient to have to shovel the snow off the porches before lugging the step stool out in the -20 degree F weather...There would NOT have been a frickin' wasp hanging around.  No wasp in its right mind goes outside in February.  

EPILOGUE: Tonight, the husband is only slightly irritated with me.  The wasp still floats...and water drips from the usual place in my art studio's ceiling. I expect that I have "blown out" the bees wax seal which the toilet sits upon. Tomorrow, I expect the plumber and a large plumbing bill.  

I hate wasps.

Comments

[Carol Patrick]

Oh, I can't wait for your book! I laughed so hard, I cried. So sorry it's true! Kiss the finger for me.~Carol

[Kevin Gallagher]

Well, at least you could type that story, so your pinkie must be ok.

I once ate a piece of chicken with a yellow jacket on it and it stung me inside the mouth. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't boring...

[Marianne DiMarco-Temkin]

Kevin...chocolate and wasps sounds extremely horrific! I am so sorry that happened to you. Your poor mouth.

Luckily, I am a hunt and peck typist (thought usually I am NOT proud of this.)...the pinky never comes into play on the computer. Please do not mention this fact to Mrs. White...my high school typing teacher who once gave me an award for being the "best typist in 11th grade." Jeepers!

[Marianne DiMarco-Temkin]

To all who read this post - I apologize for the awful spelling and grammar...if the plumbers ever get the toilet working again...and it does not look good right now...I will go back and edit this post. I just called my wonderful contractor, I am sure he is delighted, to consult with the plumber on where to cut the hole in the ceiling of the new art studio. And so the heart ache and heartburn begin...

[YoMama]

And of course this means that hiding somewhere out there under the eaves most likely is a wasp's nest (or nests)that needs to be removed. I don't believe they have any natural enemies so serious chemicals must be employed.