I have issues with wasps. By â€˜issuesâ€™, I mean that I am scared to wetting myself of them. Bees are tolerable and scare me a little, but wasps just scare me to bits. I run away in a panic, my heart beating so fast it makes me see spots. Usually when one manages to get into the house, John kills it while I hide in the bathroom. Today, however, heâ€™s at school. It was such a nice day out (slightly overcast so itâ€™s not boiling outside yet) that I left the door open so Stumpy could get out. I didnâ€™t pull the screen door closed because it was a bit rainy (thus, no wasps out). I went to eat breakfast and forgot all about it until I heard a very loud BUZZZZZ coming from somewhere quite close to me. My heart in my throat, I looked around. Lo and behold, thereâ€™s a wasp checking out the trash bag (theyâ€™re attracted to dark colors), less than 10 feet away. I leapt up, knocked over my diet coke, and ran out the front door. My wasp spray was in the other room, so I ran all the way around the apartment and back into the back door for it. But it had disappeared. Where was it? I panicked and ran around the house again, finding the damn thing in the kitchen. I couldnâ€™t reach it except through the â€˜nookâ€™ hole in the wall on the other side, so I ran around the house and in the back door yet again. Iâ€™m sure my neighbors loved this. John would have been laughing his ass off. I sprayed the hell out of that wasp (and the toaster, fridge, counters and floor), and it finally died. Whew. I waited until it was even more dead before taking a picture from far away.