Despite all this, I urge you to be their friends.
This endorsement does not come easy to me. Eight years ago I found myself screaming, alone and naked, in a woodland. I had inadvertently, accidentally, naively urinated on a wasps’ nest and the wasps were giving me a damn good telling off about it. I had torn my clothes off. I had to. So intense was their rage, they were stinging and biting the fabric. I had to shake them off every single item of clothing I had. There were thousands of them. Passing hikers came gingerly over, attracted by my screams and eager to help me. I had to shout back “I’m OK!” to encourage them to back away from seeing my nakedness. I wasn’t ok though. I really wasn’t. For starters, there were wasp stings all over my genitals. Honestly, all over them. Though my testicles looked satisfyingly large I was in a great deal of pain. I was for days.
You might expect me to hate wasps after this experience in the woods but, against all the odds, I find that I am becoming their staunchest defender.