I missed one lousy piece of food on the kitchen floor Sunday night, and I am paying for it dearly. Ants are swarming my kitchen....I hates them. And don't tell me to get a pest control company - I hates them, too. They want to charge me 400 dollars a year to show up every once in a while to place some ant bait under the shoe moldings and spray the outside perimeter of the house. Guess what? I can get that ant bait and some Raid at Home Depot up the road. 15 dollars, tops. I keep telling Larry he owes me 400 dollars.
To add to my woes, I am suffering from haircut-induced PTSD. The initial trauma occurred way back in 1997, what Larry lovingly refers to as The Year of the Head Lice. It was traumatic. So traumatic that I am still unable to write anything funny about it. Let me just say, then, that one week after letting someone cut my hair with communal scissors that I haven't been able to personally sterilize, I become convinced that bugs are hatching all over my head.
Add to that the fact that I have developed something of a nervous twitch at my periodically ant-infested computer desk - one that involves intermittently smacking my own fingers while typing because it feels as though ants are crawling on them - and another nervous twitch in my ant-infested kitchen that involves slapping at my shins because it feels as though ants may be marching up my legs.... what with all that and worrying about bugs laying eggs in my hair, I'm finding it sort of hard to relax right now.
Sitting in a bagel shop all day seemed like a good solution to me - but for some reason they didn't like having 4 of my kids wandering around the place all morning. So I had to give up my idea of insect-enforced homelessness and come back to our extremely expensive anthill of a house and snap at the kids whenever they wanted something to eat in our crawling kitchen. I would have fed them outside, but - wouldn't you know - it's raining.
Actually, raining is an understatement. There's a deluge out there, and we have a lake forming directly behind our house. I send the kids out to play in it, but they keep coming back in because they are wet. Sissies. I told them there was a tornado watch so that they would all stay in the basement and leave me alone. That worked until they got hungry again. What's a mom to do?
Reader, I fed them. And the ants came marching in once more. So I convinced Rachel to go after the intruders. Which she did with frightening enthusiasm. She'd focus in on one and squash it slowly and deliberately with her finger. She kept a body count.
I knew we'd be able to channel her decapitation obsession into something useful.