All summer they'd lived in a nest above her apartment balcony, but autumn's earnest chill made the wasps sluggish. As she showered, the wasps swarmed outside her bathroom window. "May we come in?" they buzzed. "It's very cold outside. We're dying." "Of course not," she said. They hummed and tapped at her window, attracted to the warmth, but she ignored them.
Dressing in the bedroom, the wasps tapped on her window faster. "May we come in?" buzzed the wasps. "We promise we won't hurt you."
"A pretty promise," she said, "until you slip under my bare feet or my butt and sting out of reflex. No."
As she ate breakfast, they rapped at her kitchen window nonstop. "Let us in, let us in. We're so cold."
"No," she said. "Stop asking." After clearing away her meal, she picked up her briefcase and walked out to her car. A small plane rumbled through the sky. She ran down her mental checklist of things she needed to do. She absently creased her brow as the plane grew closer and closer. She turned when she realized what was really making the noise.
"You never asked if you could come out," buzzed the wasps.