Panic stations

Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.


I’ve said I don’t like wasps. And I meant it. I really really hate them. Am terrified of them. And this one was so unexpected and so huge that I ended up having a massive panic attack, especially when I discovered I don’t have any Raid in the house. I always have Raid in the house. I usually have two cans of Raid in the house. Why the fuck don’t I have any Raid in the house?!

Anyway, after half an hour of sitting on the stairs and shaking, I pulled myself together enough to ask the woman upstairs if she had any fly killer. She didn’t, but – and I appear to be making a lot of apologies lately (she’ll always be a bit weird though) – she did give me a can of oven cleaner. That’ll do. I can kill wasps once I’ve psyched myself up, but I need to be able to disable them with spray before I’m brave enough to squash them with a newspaper.

It’s dead now. I’ve washed the oven cleaner off the bath. I still feel like I’m going to be sick, but at least it’s dead.



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