Last night at a bar, Tom Franklin chastised me for what he perceived as my timid and ambivalent relationship with Goldie the Wasp. Wasps, he declared, are the personification of evil, and cited an article by Stephen Jay Gould to back up his claim. I should swat them with a badminton racket, he suggested, bunting them onto the roof, where they would bake in the sun. He laughed off my suggestion that his method might be considered harsh. "They came down from the attic and stung me on my neck! In my own home!" he bellowed. I quoted the Godfather Part II back at him, "In MY HOUSE! Where my CHILDREN play with THEIR TOYS!" and oh the jolly warm chuckles we shared at our mutual shenanigans. When I got home, I had an email from the bird correspondent, who had the nerve to suggest that we put our cats in harm's way by training them to kill and eat wasps! She refused to give me the name of a bird that could do the trick - so protective of her precious birds, though their tough beaks are much more suited to the task than the soft pads of a cat. I appear to be alone on the wasp matter. I believe I shall next consult Aristophanes (pictured), who wrote a play about wasps, and I am sure it contains a lot of good tips on getting rid of them.
