Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Ants In My Pants

Killing ants is a mesmerizing activity. I find, for instant ant killing, Fantastic spray works fantastically. Except that it gives my husband a headache. The smell of the spray, not the ant killing itself. We're both all-for ant killing. This month alone, I've killed thousands. I hate ants. They are coming in through the cracks in our kitchen tile grout. It's like watching a miniature horror film. 

It has been a challenging month, ant-wise. We've made gingerbread creations dripped with sugared frosting and dotted with candy. Ant heaven. Cat food, meat balls and bacon grease. All making quite the holiday feast for my little ant friends. My daughter built an igloo-shaped ice house out of sugar cubes for a class project. I know the ants watched from their hiding places as my daughter layered sugar cube after sugar cube on her house. They must have been thinking she was making a custom paradise home just for them. Or perhaps they were recognizing they had just wandered into the home of one of the dumbest human families ever. Yeah, they hit the mother load. Little ant high-fives going on in my house.

After completing the sugar house, we hid it in the microwave for the night, but not before a few ants got stuck in the powdered sugar mortar. We left them there for added effect. I'm not sure if my daughter earned any extra credit points from them.

With so much stacked against us in the ant war, thinking ahead is key. Instant dish washing a must. Keeping food out of the bedrooms seems like an obvious rule to live by. I probably should have posted a sign or something, because the other day I had a nasty surprise. My husband hid his candy stash in MY underwear drawer. My dresser is closer to his side of the bed, if you are wondering why he picked MY drawer. I'm sure it wasn't personal.

First it was poop in my washing machine - hence,  a load of shit, now it's ants in my pants. I'm getting a feeling I'm in some sort of writer's hell, forced to live out every bad cliche ever written and destined to a life of vigorous and immediate dishwashing and emergency loads of laundry.


  1. You have my sympathy with these challenges, especially the ones about laundry. OH, yeah...