As I grew older, I got the lovely chore of mowing the lawn. In those muggy, hot summer days in San Bernardino, wasp would find refuge in the dew betwixt the grass. Neat, my rivals were now laying in wait to hamper my chore completion. What was I to do? Mow very fast and give the wasps a slow moving target, or defend my patch of unshorn grass. I would stand my ground, but with what? Water? No. Wasp spray? Didn't have any. Wait, a Tennis Racket. It's true, I found a Tennis Racket, and walked out to the field of battle.
I think I heard the first wasp let out an evil wasp laugh when it took off and flew toward me. I felt like a Gladiator marching out to meet my foe. I held my swordish racket, and swang (is that a word?) it side to side preparing for the wasp, that was quickly winging its way toward me. I focused, and when the wasp wandered into the strike zone, I swung, and 'zwing' the wasp was propelled to the left. Perplexed, and wasp flew back into the original flight path, and made a second attempt. When it veered close enough, Fwang, I hit it again with my trusty racket. More miffed this time, it made another fevered flight in my direction. It flew into the strike zone again, and I swung as hard as I could (I felt John McEnroe cheering me on, then complaining about something else), and my foe was stuck in a mangled wad on my Tennis Racket. I was victorious. I conquered the Wasp. I understand that a new section in Wasp training includes Tennis Racket avoidance, and a picture of my face on the Wasp Most Wanted list. I'm like a Freddie Krueger to Wasps, without 2 out of 6 good movies.