“When are you going to leave your wife?” my mistress asked.
I was putting on my boots.
“Soon,” I said.
On my way home, I swung by the office to pick up a new golf club I’d had delivered, then stopped by the daycare to pick up my son.
That’s when I saw the first wasp.
I assumed it had entered the car on my son’s clothes. It was particularly pesky, eluding my attempts to flush it out the windows until I had no choice but to pull over and hunt it down with a rolled-up business magazine—a hunt that ended with a very satisfying splat!
The next one appeared a few days later while I was pretending to watch TV, followed by a second and third, and all three buzzed so loudly I couldn’t concentrate on my sexting. I had to take a break and kill them.
Dozens more materialized the following week.
By now, I was certain we had an infestation. But my wife insisted she hadn’t seen any, and my son was too young to talk.
I called an exterminator.
“House is clean,” he said after his inspection.
But it wasn’t.
The wasps continued to show up, day after day, in ever-greater numbers. Any time I was home, they buzzed relentlessly. I stopped being able to sleep. I stopped being able to concentrate. The only time I felt any peace from them was at work, where my boss increasingly micro-managed me, and in the hotel, where my mistress had stepped up her nagging. “It’s been almost a year! Are you gonna leave your wife or not?”
One day, I could barely take it anymore, and had to use every ounce of my self-control not to slap her across the face. “When my son is a little older,” I said through clenched teeth.
On my wife’s birthday, my wife and I took turns hiding from our son in a game of hide-and-seek. I hid in our shed. It was dark inside, and when the buzzing started I suddenly felt the wasps all around me, crawling on my face and limbs, and as I lurched for the exit I felt as if I were passing through an entire atmosphere of them! I imagined them flying down my throat, devouring my eyes, numbing my tongue…
I screamed and my wife had to calm me down. “It’s OK, there aren’t any more wasps,” she repeated as she petted my hair like I was a dumb dog.
I took a sabbatical from work.
Because I was home all day, we cancelled daycare.
I checked the house insistently for the wasp lair. I knew there was one because I had already killed thousands.
That’s when I saw it:
My son sleeping so peacefully, as a wasp exited his nostril. Another emerged from his ear.
I knew what had to be done. What I had to do.
Wasps buzzed. Phone buzzed.
I grabbed my golf club.