Every day is Father’s Day.

Guess who was just minding her own business, trying to be a responsible homeowner by throwing a little grass seed down in the bald spots of her front lawn? And guess who learned the hard way that there was a ginorous mud dauper nest inside her hose reel?

Sonofbitchshit.

Well, the blue mud daupers are really pretty. But a bit, umm, bitchy. I have four stings on my left bicep. Perhaps it will swell up and I will look really buff. But right now? Right now, I’m stoned out of my mind on Benadryl. I’m sort of allergic to wasps.

Strangely, these stings didn’t hurt the way I remember other stings to hurt. Perhaps I have passed my Delicate Young Flower stage and am now officially a Tough Old Broad.

The wasps made me think of my sweet daddy. When Poochie and I were growing up, we had one of those metal swing sets. Ours was white with orange and green accents (of course – the official color scheme of the 70s).

The problem with this particular swing set design was that the hollow tubes made the most awesome wasp condos ever. And no kid is particularly pumped about swing sets with the added bonus of painful stings.

So, every year, my dad would get his can of Raid and spray the crap out of that swing set. My mom, Poochie and I would stand at the sliding glass door and watch him spray Raid into one end of the main swing set support … and watch a hot mess of pissed-off wasps come flying out the other end. Then, we’d cheer as my dad ran like holy hell for the house, wasps hot on his tail.

It’s one of those things that I thought was really cool as a kid. As an adult, I know how completely distasteful that task is and have a totally new appreciation for my dad.

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