Welcome To The Circus

I thought I’d give you all an update on the goings on at The Bright Compound. 

So, it seems that we have had some unwelcome house guests.  Unlike other Sisters, mine have been of the winged variety.  Apparently two wasp colonies have taken up residence at our house.  One on the front porch and the other on the back fence.  I don’t know if they’re like rival wasps gangs or what, the East Siders and the West Siders.  Perhaps they fly around in E or W formations, or maybe they make little gang signs with their wings or something.  I don’t know what the deal is, but they’re here and, against my Buddhist nature, they must go

My Honey is very brave, for a bass player, that is.  He decided that he would take care of the problem.  He’s like a musical SWAT team.  Obviously, I didn’t know this bust was taking place or I would have been VERY concerned.  My Honey is an extremely capable man, but this whole plan seemed like a bad idea.  I understand that he’d planed this himself with no backup.  Ed, where were you?  What could you possibly have been doing that was more important than watching My Honey’s back? Whatever.

Before you panic and start calling the hospitals or watching for the disaster on the news, I will tell you that My Honey is fine.  Nary a sting.  I suspect that you are now thinking, in the most sadistic way, that this story is proving to be a let down.  Oh, Readers of little faith, you should know better than that.  I do try to fulfill our covenant.

Instead of describing a disaster, I shall describe to you his uniform.  Please remember that we live in the southwest and today it was 9 million degrees because we are approximately 12 feet from the sun.  Picture if you will: blue jeans, steel toes boots, long sleeve shirt, a bandanna around his lower face and another around the top, a hat, gloves and goggles.  He told me  that the only skin showing were his ears, and he confided that they blinked there on each side of his head like red “Sting Me” beacons.  

I guess he sprayed the holy hell out of the little terrorists with wasp spray and they are now deceased.  The prospect of building new nests will be strongly discouraged.  I sincerly doubt that their funeral will be as extravagant as someone else’s lately, but they’re dead and the Brights did the Snoopy Dance of joy. 

I tried to get him to admit that he squealed like a girl and ran away, but no.  I will concede that I am a little disappointed.  It’s OK if you are to.