Attack of the Wasps

It was a beautiful fall Saturday.  After Kitty's team successfully won their soccer game against an undefeated team, we ventured out to get a fresh donut and visit a punkin patch.

It was idyllic as we sat there eating our fresh donuts and voraciously licking our lips.  Idyllic until the wasps arrived.  They wanted fresh donuts as well.  

Kitty was freaking out and screeching every time one came close to her.  I wasn't convinced they were actually wasps and suggested they might just be hover flies - a species I learned about a few years ago from my brilliant scientist brother-in-law.  Since Kitty instinctively rejects most things I say as being right, she insisted they were wasps and they were out to kill her.

Such drama.  

I told her to calm down and that she wasn't going to be stung by the hover flies.  And then I commenced a telephone call with my father.  Moments later, Kitty screamed at a decibel that alarmed all of the nice, old people enjoying their sandwiches and donuts next to us.

Well, whaddayaknow?!  One of my flies had stung her. 

Kitty felt pain.  I felt betrayed.  Michael felt like buying chocolate milk to wash down his donut.  But, being the kind papa that he is, he also bought her some cream to soothe the sting.

Ok, I admit it...I was wrong.  But just this one time.

But! We didn't let the wasps spoil our plans and continued on to the punkin patch.  Kitty rode a mechanical bull, went down a slide at warp speed, conquered tightrope walking, and successfully completed a corn maze with her old parents.  Like I said, it was a beautiful fall Saturday.  My only regret was that I was wearing a sweater.  I expected it to be chilly but Mr. Sun was out in full force instead.  

Thanks for the memories...and the perspiration.

And what about the wasp attack?  Poor Kitty's hand was still swollen a few days later.

I'd like to say that I'll know better next time and recognize a wasp when I see one.  But I won't say that because it ain't true.

Everything is a hover fly to me.