Wednesday, March 13, 2013
A Dusting of Snow
Question, who swats at a wasp while holding a full cup of steaming coffee? That would be me. Coffee cup in left hand, I pick up the fly swatter with my right, slip off the chair and away from my computer (belatedly thanking God for little bits of good sense), and then identify the freaky buzzing around the light above my head. Yep it's a wasp, so I take a swipe at it, only making it mad. Whoa, coming at me. Boom, boom, boom goes my heart, and my arm pits prickle. Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh goes the swatter. Slosh, slosh, slosh goes the coffee, until I hear the little click indicating I connected with the scary little beast. Oh dear. I apologize to the wounded little fella as he limps off; he probably wasn't going to hurt me anyway. Only then am I aware of coffee slopped on my hand, splattered on pajamas and carpet, begging the question above. Who swats a wasp with a cup of coffee in hand? Really. Who does that?
Lucky for me the carpet up here in the loft is tight looped varigated shades of tan. I scrubbed it up, no one will notice once it's dry. But the coffee smell lingers...on my sleeves. Nothing the washing machine can't help me with. Now, let's see. I had something profound to blog about. I wonder what it was? No matter now, time's up.
RIP Mr. Wasp.