Wasps follow me. While thus far, no stings, they do creep in on my territory. A wasp’s nest appeared under the doorway to my parents’ house. Years later, one crawled up my leg and almost made it to my underwear. When I moved in to my current home, paper wasps built themselves a nest inside our air conditioner vent. The first summer in our place became a creepy little siege. I could not go eat or read on the balcony without a bee swinging by, and when I sat down to work in my office, bees hovered outside the window, their figure-eight black eyes peering in, as though they were astronauts making notes on my alien life.
While insects all creep me out, wasps get me with that extra alien quality. Most are gross, implacable bundles around a tiny nervous system, and they don’t care if they crawl in shit. Bees are different. They are social. They communicate. They organize. For all I want to know, they hold elections.
It occurs to me that the creeped-out I feel parallels the creepy described by some folks that report experiences with the fae. Even though the fae present as humanoid, they really, really aren’t. That may be what our brains write in there so we can deal with it, a sanity-saving misconception software patch.
They do seem sentient, more sentient than dissection (by other people, not me) has concluded. Those bees watched me, and I could tell they were checking. Was I going to mind my own business? Was I going to head for the spray can? Could they spread their territory?
Second, fairies produce gold. It’s one of the keys of their mythologies: fairy gold is precious, hard to obtain, and not meant for human hands.
Honey is golden. We may eat it, but it’s not meant for us.
If one breed of fairies includes winged and vicious pixie creatures that protect their gold with their lives – could we at least be speaking of wasps?