Danger and Adventure, in My Own Backyard

Imagine, if you will, a lovely Sunday afternoon. The sky was clear, the air was warm, and I had just begun my annual summer reading of my favorite book, Pride and Prejudice, on a swing in my backyard. After some time had been passed, basking in the witty banter of Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy, I felt something crawling on my foot. I looked down, assuming it was an ant or other bug that could be swept away. To my horror, however, I saw that there was a wasp on my foot! I have a horrible, horrible fear of wasps and all other related, stinging insects. I've been stung several times in my life and have no wish to be stung again. I tried to remain calm, hoping that the beast would eventually bore of its perch and take flight, but that did not appear to be the wasp's plan. It stayed, and stayed, and, you guessed it, stayed. I moved my foot closer to the grass in an attempt to entice the wasp towards the lush greenery, but alas! my efforts were in vain.

After several more paralyzingly frightening moments, in which the wasp continued to reposition its many legs and move around its thorax (an action which I was certain meant the insect was preparing to sting me), my mind caught hold upon the thought that my brother, Bret, was just inside and could surely come to my rescue. I picked up my phone and called him. The call went a bit like this:
Bret: Hello? (In a questioning tone, wondering why his sister was calling him from outside)
Me: Are you home? (I was afraid that he had left while I was outside)
Bret: Yes.
Me: You have to come save me. There's a wasp on my foot. (I was whispering because I was afraid that excess noise would provoke the monster)
Bret: Ok, I'll be right out.

Moments later, Bret emerged from the house, wearing a straw cowboy hat and wielding a BB gun. I was pretty sure that he did not intend to shoot me, but he did have a gun... My foot began to tremble and I tried to control it, certain that movement would enrage the creature into a violent show of self defense. Bret walked toward me, cocking the gun as he crossed the grassy expanse. I wondered if maybe he planned to poke the wasp off my foot. That concerned me because it seemed likely that such a poke would only anger the wasp and end with me being stung. Bret pointed the gun at my foot and pulled the trigger. The puff of air that came out of the empty barrel shot the wasp off my foot and out of sight. Afraid that the wasp would make a swift and vengeful return, I screamed, gathered my belongings, and ran into the house. My legs were shaking too badly to support my weight, and I had to take a seat, gasping to regain a regular breathing pattern. Bret came in and laid his weapon and hat down. I told him he was my hero, because it was true.

Bret saved my life that day.