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Flying Fire & Very Bad Adulting

It has been a week. And it's only Wednesday. That's a problem.

This morning I managed to put my underwear on inside out and backwards. How that happened I will never understand. And Scott will never be able to un-see me, standing in the middle of the bedroom, one leg up on the bed (a la Captain Morgan), dress shoved up under my arm pits and my body ungracefully folded forwards trying to see what the hell was going on down there.

To Scott's credit, he didn't say a word. Probably because the sight rendered him speechless. He just looked up from his phone, blinked a few times and walked away silently. He's such a good man.

Sometimes I wonder if Scott ever looks at me and questions his life choices. That bubbly, thin and clumsy 17 year old lunatic he signed up for is now a curvy, anxiety riddled (with a smidge of OCD) 30 year old who still throws temper tantrums when the alarm goes off in the morning. But, I am still a lunatic. So it wasn't entirely false advertising when he hitched his wagon to mine.

But then I think his life would be very dull without me in it to spice things up. So really- he should be thanking me.

And apparently I have been rubbing off on him. Or, at least, that's what the smoldering wasp nest in the middle of my backyard leads me to believe. Decisions were made in the heat of the moment- and let's just say we will not be short listed for a Nobel.

The moment I got home from work, I knew that something was up. We currently have three outdoor kittens and five baby chicks. The chicks are being housed in a lovely little coop Scott built next to the woodshed. Normally, the kittens are busy harassing and/or casing the chick coop. Biding their time and waiting to pounce. But today, the chicks and the kittens were huddled at the back corner of the enclosed run off the coop, and their heads were on swivels (kittens on the outside, chicks on the inside of course). Looking intently from the woodshed, to the house and back again. It was obvious they had found common ground, and something was making them all a bit nervous.

I got out of the car and tentatively started making my way over the group of fluffy little animals when Scott came flying out the front door..... with a blow torch.... and a can of wasp killer.

Scott: Hey babe. You better go in the house.

Me: What are you doing with a blow torch?

Scott popped a kiss on my forehead as he strode past me, and didn't look back as he kept talking.

Scott: There's the biggest fucking wasp nest I have ever seen in the woodshed. Assholes got me twice. They're gonna regret it.

Scotty- the love of my life, the strong, steady and reasonable force in my life- then turns around holding the blow torch in one hand and the can of raid in the other. Without breaking eye contact he sparked the blow torch and lit the stream of pesticide coming out of the aerosol can on fire. Creating a hillbilly flame thrower of sorts. My mouth dropped open and Scott smiled as he turned his attention back to the woodshed.

Me: Scott! Are you insane? Wait until dusk. Bees and wasps get stupid when the sun goes down, right? Plus, the wood shed is literally just kindling, and you think it's a good idea to go in there with a flame thrower?

Scott: Mind your business. And I'm not stupid- the hose is right here.

It was a strange turn of events. Scott being crazed and me being the rational one. And let me tell you, I did not care for it. There is room for one lunatic in this relationship, and I have had a firm grasp on that title for almost 13 years. I have put in the work. He can't just get stung a few times and decide to take that from me.

I had ushered the kittens and chicks as far away from the woodshed as I could manage when I heard Scott's maniacal laugh. I started towards the house, because there was no way this was going to turn out well and I did not want to be around to see it, when the laughing stopped.

Scott: SHIT!

I turned around to see Scott hauling ass out of the woodshed and running towards me on the deck.


I saw it then. In the distance over Scott's shoulder a loud, orange glow emerged from the woodshed... and it was moving fast.

Apparently, in an effort to protect the hive from Scott, hundreds of wasps had returned to their condominium in my woodshed to batten down the hatches. And when Scott lit the hive on fire- they decided to take the kamikaze approach to defending the home front.

I rushed to the door, tripping over our welcome mat and falling to my knees inside the entrance. Scott barreled in behind me and we swung the door shut in the nick of time. Hell fire wasps starting tinging off the front door like hail on a tin roof.

Me: You asshole!

Scott: Okay- maybe I didn't think it through.

Me: You think?

After a brief cool down period, and after picking six stingers out of Scott's legs, we ventured back outside to assess the damage. Thankfully the woodshed was still standing, although we did lose a snow shovel. Sorry Dad- we will definitely be getting you a new one. And, after drowning the now smoldering hive in water, Scott heaved it into the middle yard.

You would think after this debacle, Scott would have the decency to pour me a drink and rub my feet. You know- and tell me I was right. But alas, he is far too practical and proud for that. Instead he proclaimed that it would be a great time to start stacking firewood, and we ended up sweating our asses for a few hours while stacking and dodging wasps that were late to the party.

Well I think this is a good stopping point. Scott is currently trying to steal my laptop to see "If I am throwing him under the bus". Pffffft. Puh-lease. I would never.


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