Oh my God! My knees are still shaking and my heart is beating as if I've been running a mile!
I was taking a shower and washing my hair...and what do I see on the bathroom wall when I get out...well the title sells the punch really...but...A BEE!!! Technically, it's a wasp, but terror chases sense away pretty fast.
Now, as a kid, I was immensely terrified of anything that stings or bites. So bees and wasps weren't on my cuddle list. But as I grew up, I gradually started to control myself and not feel the urge to run away screaming when I saw one. (This might have something to do with my needing to set a good, reasonable example to daycare kids, and not make them as traumatized as I am.)
But a bee *inside* the house, this I've never been faced with in all my life. Oh, of course, when I lived with my family, if one flew in by accident, I'd just beg my (12 years old) brother to do something to save us. And even when one got in this summer when the patio door was opened, I managed to choo it out with a book....
But this time...this time it was different...here I am, just out of the shower, in a tiny room, with only a purple towel between me and the angry looking beast on the wall.
I start to mumble to myself while I quickly dry my hair. What should I do? What should I do? I'm so panicked I even consider calling someone to come and help me. But no, this is insane, I'm a grown up. I can take care of this...Ooooh! I can't! I can't!!!
Then my cats come in and try to catch it, the fools! So I need to act quickly, for the sake of them.
I run to the kitchen , and pick a small empty jar, a chair and a magazine and drag all of it to the bathroom, loosing my towel in the process. (I SO wish no-one was walking by the apartment window right then.)
Back in the bathroom....I watch it and wonder if I could off it with some hair spray...or perhaps hit it with a book....But if I miss...it already looks so pissed off....
I can't take that chance, so with shaking hands and legs, I climb on the chair, and I get it in the jar, whimpering and breathing loudly. I put the magazine under it and travel back to the kitchen, almost crawling on the ground to avoid the windows...and I *finally* close the jar.
NOW I can breathe.
This was so traumatic.
So now, I have a wasp in a jar, slowly dying in my freezer and I feel super bad. But I also feel kind of scared, because I have NO idea how that one got in...and I'd like to know if there are more where it came from.
One of the reasons why I appreciate winter....NO damn bugs!!