Late in the season, wasps are looking for every nook and cranny where they could leave their eggs for the next season. As we were sitting on the terrace yesterday afternoon, my beloved lifted her feet onto her lounge chair. Her groin offered an attractive place for a wasp. “Don’t move,” I said when I saw one of them exploring the spot. I got up from my lounge chair, slipped my feet into my Crocks shoes, and spread my beloved’s knees apart. The wasp flew straight into my left Crocks shoe, got stuck between it and my bare foot, and stung me. I do not remember the last time I was stung by a wasp, but it must have been forty or fifty years ago. Thus I was surprised by how much it actually hurt. It stung me into the soft skin under the arch of my foot. My beloved brought some ice from the kitchen, and it helped a bit. But the pain continued all day long. Even though it subsided somewhat by bedtime, I could feel it through the night. I can still feel it this morning, but now it is combined with an annoying itch. “Fucking wasp,” I mumble every once in a while. I can imagine what would have happened had it stung my beloved, instead. Her groin would have hurt and itched for days.