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This week I have been in battle. I have killed hundreds, possibly thousands — of wasps.

For some reason they are especially bad this year. Nobody around can remember them building their papery nests in seemingly every crack and crevice like this. Stores are literally running out of wasp spray, people are buying it by the case.

Some ground dwelling type is altogether new. And especially aggressive. Several hover at the entrance, double dog daring anyone who comes near. If they feel it is too close they suddenly charge.

Maybe it was when I was mowing the lawn near a nest and one such scout wasp not only followed me across the yard but then flew up into my hair and lodged there, buzzing menacingly as I tried to shake it off that my switch flipped from “live and let live” to “sorry but this town ain’t big enough for the two of us.” Or maybe it was when it then flew up my shirt and stung me — twice — that I finally decided the wasps had to go. (Unlike bees, wasps can sting again and again, little f’ers!)

And they don’t just sting people! I have a sprinkler head that is leaking that they loved to hang out at like a little wasp oasis. So I turned off the water line until it can get fixed. Later that day I noticed two wasps on the now dry sprinkler head, attempting to sting it like mad, pissed as hell that it wasn’t dripping H2O any longer. Vicious!

I told myself it wasn’t just for my sake it had to be done. The wasps could sting the kids, or their friends, or others visiting. No, I could not look away and hope for the best any longer.

I asked around and got as many answers for how to take out their underground bunker as I asked people. Bury them. Drown them. Spray them. Light them on fire. The list went on and on.

Since I had a can of spray, I decided to try that first. After dusk when all the wasps were tucking away in their beds, I fumigated the tunnel. A heavy rock covering the opening ought to do, I thought.

The next morning not only had they dug out around the edges of the rock, they had made new exits to boot.

It was in the comments of a video of two guys lighting up an underground wasp nest that I got the next idea. As these guys found, while lighting the entrance up like a Fourth of July pyro’s dream might be satisfying, the commenter said doing so would suck the vapors up and out of the cavern, preventing a clean kill. Far better to pour 3-4 ounces in and simply put a rock on the opening till morning, they claimed.

Simple. Deadly. Relatively cheap. And I had it on hand. Perfect.

That night I doused two ground nests, once again putting a big rock on top of the exit. I would not know if I had won the battle until first light.

Low and behold the next day the hole in the ground that had actively  been a buzz with wasps coming and going the day before now showed no signs of life at all.

You’d think I would celebrate but instead I felt guilty. Didn’t they deserve to live as much as myself? Was it fair? Was I being waspist?

I doubt many men would fret one iota over doing what needed done. They might even use it as a bragging right.

I realized what another commenter had said about men and women’s moral reasoning being different based on ancient programming was true.

Most women don’t do well with killing stuff that needs killed. Men? They don’t seem to share that same inner conflict.

Perhaps there are specialized roles for a reason?

In any case I have since offed two more ground hives. I still don’t like doing it. But it’s got to be done.

What do you think? Please share in the comments!