Dodo Eggs

Every now and then, the mystic forces that determine winning lottery numbers and who gets struck by lightning make a decision that actually affects me.  Listen to this (or don’t and avoid the letdown)… 

A couple years ago, I was working on a new coat of paint for the Château’s upstairs hallway.  Melissa had picked out an expensive, textured paint that required 3 coats, special techniques, and several pagan rituals to successfully apply. 

(It was a Ralph Lauren paint.  Does anyone else find it surprising that someone named Ralph is a crafter of upper crust style?  And does this pave the way for the Larrys and Franks of this world to become fashion mavens?  And what the #^$% does Ralph actually know about paint?  I’d put $600 dollars Ralph has never even played polo.) 

I noticed a large black wasp hanging out on the wall.  I certainly would have brought about its quick demise but it was positioned in the vaulted area above the stairs.  It was late and the bug was far out of reach so I decided to try and find it the next day.  With any luck, it would still be in the same spot at which point I would use a broom or something of equally lethal length.

However, the next morning my winged visitor had disappeared.  I checked all the walls in all directions but the wasp was not to be found.  I guessed he would turn up somewhere so I let my mind work on other things, such as putting on my boots.

The tale takes a twist as I made my way to my automobile.  Something was in my boot.  (You can see where this is going.)  I really didn’t give it a lot of thought until I arrived at school.  Even then I simply arched my foot and moved whatever “it” was to a move comfortable position. 

After teaching first period I wandered into Ms. Hemmerly’s room to address something educational and most likely inconsequential.  “Whatever” was in my boot shifted again.  I unlaced my boot, flipped it upside down, and shook. 

To my surprise, (but not yours since you’ve already guessed) a wasp leg followed by the rest of the body landed in my palm.  It was still alive and squirming.  With a yelp much like a four-year-old girl, I dropped the wasp into a garbage can. 

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