Hello friend, Liz here.
Have you ever been divebombed by a wasp? I had the strange and surprising experience this past week, while visiting an open-space with a friend and our kids: we met a wasp on a mission.
First the wasp went for my son, landing repeatedly on his sweaty neck as he swatted and screamed (seven-year-olds, by the way, are incapable of calmly waiting for an aggressive insect to lose interest in them). I smacked the wasp away from him, which only transferred the wasp to me, apparently.
I found myself sprinting around the parking lot, pursued by the tiniest enemy, always hovering a few inches from my head. Eventually, I took out my hair tie and started whipping my hair around, in hopes of smacking the wasp away, even if I couldn’t see it to do so with my hands. Then I curled my mane back into a bun, looked around, and the wasp had vanished.
I imagined the saga to be over.
But the next morning, as I took out my bun to brush my head in front of the bathroom mirror, lo and be…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to the Empathy List to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.