[WT Sharpe]

Early at work this morning before first shift arrived I was attacked by wasps. I didn't see them coming, and in my sudden desperate attempt to escape them, I tripped over my bulky-ass safety shoes and took a tumble. I then rolled over a few times to get away from them, but still got a couple of stings.

Why did they assume that behavior wouldn't tick me off? I found a can of spray paint and returned to the scene of the crime where the varmints had established their fort and initiated a frontal assault. They came again, but without the element of surprise, I was more than a match for them. Every time one came too close, it got a makeover in white. When I had driven off the bulk of them, I closed in on the hole where their hideout was located and saturated it with paint to the best of my ability. Since there is plenty of room behind the entrance to their lair, I can't be sure all of them were completely persuaded to abandon ship, but I'm hoping. The additional stings were worth it.

Now I'm home and my rib cage on my right side is killing me. I felt a pain when I fell, but it didn't seem too bad. Now it hurts to breathe too deeply or bend over. Even getting up is a chore. I know what's happened. I've been through this before, and I know the drill. Either I've cracked a rib or torn a ligamen. It doesn't matter which, as the only cure for either is to take it easy until it heals.

The sad thing is that this war was unnecessary. Had they not made the first move with that pre-emptive strike, I would have been perfectly content to allow them then to live in peace. Now their little white corpses litter the battlefield, and I'm afraid to cough!