It's dark outside. The temperature is falling (64°F currently, expected low of 51°F) so the threat of our Vespoidea masters should be less. Or so I thought. The Kids were outside tearing apart an old scooter they found and asked for some help in removing some bolts.
I'm kneeling on the ground, hunched over, holding a wrench steady on one bolt while The Younger attempts to remove another one lower down on the bolt when The Older one said “Sean?”
“Yes?” I notice he has this crazed look in his eye.
“There's a wasp,” he said.
I felt a slight tickling on my back. “It's on my back, isn't it?” The Older, not blinking, staring in horror as Paravespula vulgaris crawls around my back. The Older starts to get up. “For the love of God and all that is Holy don't do anything!” I calmly said.
The Kids were frozen in their tracks, staring at my back as Death Incarnate crawled around on my shirt. I for one stopped breathing, least I invoke an attack of aggression.
Time stood still.
The seconds stretched into eons.
Eventually, I heard the buzzing of a wasp flying away.
“Is it gone?” I asked.
I was already inside, door shut tight.
“Hey! What about us?”