I think perhaps I am becoming less of a violent stinkpot - or more of an utterly bonkers extremist (depending on your perspective).

I was just in the kitchen washing dishes and reached for a towel that happened to be the temporary home of a small wasp, which did not appreciate the interruption and showed its displeasure by stinging me on the finger. As I was reaching for something with which to smoosh its little exoskeleton to smithereens, it suddenly occurred to me to ask, why? Why do I feel justified in killing this tiny living creature, just for defending itself? I mean, it's not as if it was one of those vampiric little she-mosquitoes, going out of her way to steal some of my blood. If I was that wasp, I'd have stung me.

So instead of demanding retribution I got a jar, trapped the wasp, took it outside and let it go. Namaste, little hymenoptera apocrita.


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