So the other day we found some wasp nests and a hundred wasps in our palm tree near our back door.
Kevin said he could take care of them.
He did. He burned of their wings and they fell to the ground. Then they met my broom. I haven't seen any for a while.
I was starting to wonder if my husband was OK, so I checked out the definition below.
Pyromania - a type of impulse control disorder; an impulse to deliberately start fires to relieve tension and typically includes feelings of gratification or relief afterward. (Wikipedia)
Hmm. . . kind of fits. He was gratified. And relieved. Then again, so was I.
He claims he learned how to make a torch from his older brother while in a hotel in another country.
I'm not sure of all the details, but it involved a school trip (to a foreign country), adolescents (some Schrags included), fire (with a lighter and matches), evacuation, some not-very-happy adults, reprimanding, and lots of laughs later on. Please correct me if I'm wrong, Steve.
I was wrong. He's not a pyromaniac. He's a victim of sibling abuse. Or something like that.
