things i think when contemplating death
A WASP THE SIZE OF MY THUMB CAME DOWN THE A/C VENT INTO MY BEDROOM.
I thought the rustling was a cat playing with a piece of paper. BUT IT WAS WASPY DEATH.
First, I screamed. “OH SHIT!”
And then I knew— I had to kill it before it killed me.
I scrambled out, into the living room. I grabbed a magazine and ran back into the bedroom. But even rolled up, Time Magazine was no match for this beast of waspy death.
Cats, curious, began circling around the vent.
I panicked! ”The wasp is big enough to sting my eyes out! It will kill my cats!”
On the floor, a heavy hardback book. Fire by Kristin Cashore. I was just reading it.
“I can’t kill it with a good book,” I thought. ”It’ll get guts all over it! AND IT’S A LIBRARY BOOK!”
So I looked over to my reference shelf, where the heaviest tomes lie - dictionaries, Spanish-English dictionaries from college, pill reference books to prevent accidental poisonings… The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Edition.
I grabbed the Bible.
Using the Good Book, I slammed the WASP OF DOOM back up against the bars of the vent. It was still rustling against the book! The buzz of wings! So I pushed on the Bible, harder, smooshed it down, pressed the book into the grates!
“Why won’t the Bible kill this wasp?” I push harder, again. A crunch. It must be dead.
I sighed and trembled with relief. But can wasps still sting after death? I used a pair of chopsticks to pull the pieces out of the vent.
IT WAS NOT DEAD. IT MOVED. OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD.
It is now currently half alive under a mug on my kitchen counter.
President Obama approves this level of nerdy queerness.
