First of all a wasp nest is some dry dirt against a wall. What is there for me to help with? Girl just knock it down with a broom.
I show up, amused. She asks: “Do you know how to knock down a wasp nest?” Notice how it went from “can you help me” to “when are you going to do what you’re supposed to do, you’re a Man etc?”. The classic I’m-a-woman-I’m-weak switcheroo. Fine.
I look at the single lane tunnel against the wall. It’s a baby nest. It’s not even a nest yet. Its being built for sure.
So I go grab what I need and show up at the front door to do the job and she’s like “can I help?” in her t-shirt, lying like a mofo. I laugh her out with my hoodie on and my broom in the other hand. “I’m fine” I say, smiling.
I’m about to knock it down and of course the single wasp arrives to build the rest. I wait for it to be inside the single lane tunnel before smacking the whole thing with the broom. I successfully achieve this.
But I know it’s not over with the wasp. It never is. I jump down the stairs to get rid of the corpse but this bitch is just lightheaded. As I try to get rid of it on the front yard, the flying beast starts flying again and comes at me.
No, not today beloved creature of the earth. Not these days. I whack it so hard I send it to the Precambrian. I whooped that insect’s ass on the lawn. I might even have muttered “fuck 12”. I didn’t even look back. I knew it was over.
I protected where I live, I didn’t claim no patriarchy, I helped a black woman for free. The bar is low. I’m the best.