vinaigrette?

So the other day I am outside puttering around, as I am want to do. I see a big huge wasp fly onto my windowsill and crawl into my bedroom and I think "hmmm, cool, how'd he do that?" And I go about watering my plants. We get home from vacation today and Annabelle and I run a few errands and I come home and find Hyphen perched on the couch, watching tv and tells me the following:

Hyphen: "Dude, don't go in the bedroom there is a big, huge wasp in there. It was huge, seriously. I shut the door. Seriously, don't open the door, I don't want Annabelle to get stung"

Now, genius that I am, I think to myself "ruh-roh, there is something rotten in Denmark, and it ain't all that cheese." So of course, I go into the bedroom pull up the blind and see that there are two of the little critters building a wasps' nest. Here is where marital teamwork comes into play. The last time I was stung by something I was in Matagorda State Park with my sister. We were dancing on the gazebo trying to imitate Leezel and her loser nazi boyfriend's routine in the sound of Music, you know, "I am sixteen going on 17, and yoouuu arre a Nazzziii." That one. Anyway, we were clowning around and somehow knocked loose a yellow jacket nest, who were living quite peacefully in the gazebo and did not enjoy our little dance blitzkrieg. I had one sting and my arm was so swollen it looked like my grandma's. Actually, it probably just looked the way it does now since it was 18 years and 40 pounds ago. So I have a self-diagnosed allergy to stings. Hyphen knows this, since at the time we were friends and he saw my arm. So he goes in with some wasp killing spray and gets the job done. When he come out he tells me that he killed two wasps, but they were not the wasps he saw because that was the big one. The Moby Dick of wasps. Again he closes the door and tells me not to go in. Now, I have to tell you, my husband is not closing the door because he is scared that I, the mother of his child, might go into anaphylatic shock. He is closing the door because he is scared of bugs, pure and simple. I am not scared of bugs, so back in I go, and sure enough, there was our great white whale-- buzzing about the window. I call for Hyphen who runs in with the spray tells me to get out and harpoons that son-of-a-gun. (mother-f-er would have been better there, but i am trying to curse less, see?) We are a lean-mean wasp killing machine. I find 'em, he kills 'em.

Oil and water make vinaigrette, who knew?