Don’t tell me wasps aren’t fucking terrifying

Okay hold on one hotdamn minute and tell me if you’re one of these motherfuckers who isn’t scared of wasps. Are you? ARE YOU?! Seriously, who are you? I’m not saying I’ve got spheksophobia, but wasps are jacked up little stingrays of venomous wasp-rage and there is no reason for you not to be terrified out of your goddamn mind whenever one just casually wanders into your life.

Maybe you’re a genuine badass, I’ll give you that. I don’t know who you are, but you could be the kinda person who responds to the wasps “big-guy-in-a-small-body” motherfuckin’ philosophy of life with a kickass ‘tude of your own and I respect that. Ain’t no asshole flying turd-stick going to fuck around with your afternoon; you get a sting you take a mild antihistamine and carry the fuck on with your day and that’s awesome. Seriously who are you and can you come and protect me? You’re probably a chilled-out insect-ologist who tells me interesting facts about wasp anatomy while simultaneously, and ever so gracefully, saving my life from holy hellfire wasp-rage. If this is you, I want you in my life.

But the chances are, if you’re not scared of wasps, and you are genuinely not just saying that to man yourself up, you’ve probably never truly experienced one.

Sure you may have seen a few, but seein’ ain’t feeling, my friend. You haven’t truly lived until you have experienced a wasp sting. It’s not even about the pain. On a scale of “too-hot-bath-water” to “actual-childbirth“, the pain is pretty much on the same scale as “stepping-on-lego” for the average European wasp. And that’s not even covering fucking hornets and you had best believe that I will get to them. And as I said, it is so not about the pain.

I’m talking about the trauma. That moment in your childhood when you lose a chunk of your innocence to one of these fuckers. When you’re casually picking some flowers and some waspy douche decides it’s having approximately none of that and you have to watch, frozen, helpless, as the knob-head angrily drills its backside into your tiny finger with the most enraged BZZZZZZZ you will ever hear.
It’s enough to haunt your tiny nightmares for weeks. More than long enough for a lifelong fear to take root in the hearts of even the best of us.

And, OH YEAH, hornets. Don’t tell me they’re docile creatures. Don’t give me that crap about them only attacking when they’re threatened: “they’re just like bees, Tess. If you leave ’em alone, they’re cool. Bees are just bumbly little balls of fun, making some sweet, sweet honey and smelling the flowers of life. Hornets are just as awesome as they are.”

DO YOU THINK I CARE?

Do you think I give a crap about their intentions when THIS just casually drones into my house?!

I don’t care if they don’t want to hurt me, all I can see is a GIANT version of waspy clusterfuck whose sting could actually kill me. You cannot react with any fucking sense of rational logic when confronted by a beast of this calibre.

You see one fly into your sacred home, MASSIVE, God-like. So large that ancient cultures probably would have worshipped it, so threatening in your mind that it doesn’t matter if you’re a nursery worker trained to protect children with your own life if it comes down to it, in that moment you would fling a screaming toddler straight into the wasp’s path to enable your escape.
It doesn’t matter that it’s just coming in for a gander. Not shooting around a room like a fly in its horizontal manner, no. Just very slowly buzz buzz buzzing around the window area, bum down, hands together like a Bond villain swimming in their own arrogance, having a look over here, having a look over there. In your half-crazed, petrified state of mind you can’t help but imagine the it as an old lady from the west country: “ooh this is lovely, this. I do like what you’ve done with the place. I see you’ve got some flowers here, mind if I take a whiff?”

NO I DON’T. Have the flowers, have the whole goddamn house, it is yours. For all I know in this moment is that there is no one on earth but you and me and there is nothing I can do to stop you invading my property. You are my Hornetto overlord now. I will not burn the house down just so you don’t win, I will not instagram you in the seconds before my death so some Sherlockian on the internet can identify my killer. No. You have complete power over me. God knows I will scream and kick in my last moments on this earth, but I have no choice but to give in to your venomous demands. That is how scared I am of you.

So, in short, I’m scared of wasps.

And if you mock me I will end you.

Unless you have a wasp, in which case…

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