No sign of the wasp--either dead or alive--since Wednesday evening when I sprayed him with a little starch. The suggestions from my coworkers yesterday as to the status of my housemate have ranged from amusing to supportive.
The amusing suggestion? That I'd gotten enough starch on him to make him sticky and that he stuck himself to the inside of the kitchen valance. (The last location I saw him.) Being deathly afraid of wasps--either dead or alive--I'm not looking to find out. I'm still using steak tongs to pull down the window shades and carrying a can of hair spray with me everywhere I go.
The supportive suggestions have been that he must be dead, that if he weren't, I would have seen some sign of him now. My reply? I won't believe it till I see a body. Anyone who's ever watched a soap opera knows the character isn't dead unless there's a body. And sometimes not even then... But in the case of this wasp, I'll take the corpse as proof positive that he's dead.
I suppose I should talk about something other than insects since it's been 4 days now. I'm working on revisions and spending way more time on the prologue of Through a Crimson Veil than I planned on. The thing was 8 pages, so you'd think it wouldn't take much time. Well, I've spent 2 days on it so far and I'm still not done piddling around with it. It's been expanded to 13 pages. (My editor thought it would only take one or two more pages. Um, did he notice I turned the manuscript in at 460 pages? That might lead one to believe that I'm not exactly succinct.) And I need to do some transition smoothing. It is almost done.
I'd love to spread out my copy edits on the kitchen table and work on the laptop there, but the kitchen is wasp territory. And he especially likes the lights over the table. So nope, I'll be trying to work from the safe haven of my bedroom.
MN Weather Report: 57 degrees. Thunderstorms predicted.
