ANT WATCH 2012

I must admit, the list of things that give me the willies is a long list:

1. elevators

2. bridges

3. my former choir director

4. parking garages

5. the inside of delicious canteloupes/pomegrantes before they are ready for consumption

6.  all amusement park rides

7. tv shows where people eat weird things, like cow heads and lutefisk

8. ghost stories/movies

This list is probably one reason why I was branded as Piglet when my Honors English class in college was assigned Pooh characters to classmates.

That one still stings, chums.

However, many of these things can be avoided, or approached in a controlled atmosphere.  But, one TERROR INDUCING item that did not make the list is:

Bugs.

BUGS.

These beasts can strike at any time, whether you are in the shower and a spider rappels down from the ceiling, and you have no choice but to attack with the detachable shower head and dance away from its drain-ward body, or you are a timid 16-year-old innkeeper, in charge of an entire 7-bedroom inn, and the guests trapped a GIGANTIC MUTANT WATER DWELLING BUG WITH PINCERS under a wastebasket and you flip the bug into said wastebasket, tip it over the side of the balcony, sweep it into the lawn and run it over with a lawnmower.

That may be overkill, you say, but I say that I hate listening to the sickening fatal crunch of the exoskeleton, and must either drown my prey or mask that heinous sound with a shoe …. and occasionally a push mower.

This backgrounding brings us to the present day, more specifically me, alone in our meth-haven apartment, almost late for work, of course.

I am putting the finishing touches on my coffee, which accompanies me to work every day in my feminine El Dorado Refining Company travel mug, when I spot something skitter across the counter and disappear behind the toaster.

It was …

AN ANT.

As in, a cartoon picnic visitor kind of ant.  THE BIG ‘UNS.

IT WAS HIM! bastard.

So, I do what any 20-something gal with a full-time job and a husband and her own AARP card would do.

I called my poppa.

He suggested we fumigate the house.

But forgot about Toona and Beef.

NOT MY BABIES!

Then I talked to Mom.

Who said I needed to move immediately because those are CARPENTER ANTS and they are going to EAT THROUGH OUR STRUCTURE AND DEPOSIT US ASS-UP IN THE STORE DOWNSTAIRS WHEN WE LEAST EXPECT IT.

*gulp*

So then I call my husband, who was already at work.

And he answers the phone like this:  “Hey. DON’T WANT TO GET FIRED.  What can I do for you and makeitquick.”

I very calmly tell him that we have ants and OH MY GOD GO HOME IMMEDIATELY AND TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE I DON’T WANT TO RIDE THE BATHTUB THROUGH THE FLOOR FROM THESE DESTRUCTO ANTS.

For the rest of the day I nurture my throbbing ulcer until I return home to the ant’s mothership that night.  I don’t want to eat or sleep in that apartment, but … you know … I do.

It also comes out that evening that I called A in a panic because I saw an ant.

“You saw … ONE ANT.  And you CALLED ME AT WORK.  Which is supposed to be used ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES?”

My reply?  Well, there was one ant witnessed … and one dead ant’s body found near the kitchen door.

whoops.

MEASURES TAKEN SINCE THE ANT SIGHTING:

1. Toona is on vigilant bug watch.

2. I am once again investigating apartments … preferably on the ground floor and on the moon.

3. Bleaching.  EVERYTHING.

4. Standing over A wordlessly while he sleeps when a bug is spotted, so he can’t yell at me for talking to him about bugs.

5. Purchase of three ant huts to capture the buggers.

 

Until next time.

 

i’m the one on the left.

 

 

 

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