Unfortunately, I am not hungry for ants, or else I would probably be full. There are so many of them that I have almost come to regard them as annoying roommates – you’d like for them to go, but they live here so you might as well put up with them.
Sometimes I take that attitude. I see them scurrying around the living room floor, on the coffee table or on the wall, and I just say, “Good morning. Did you sleep good? Don’t forget to put your dishes in the dishwasher. And put a check for the electric bill on the table. And can you clean up the kids’ mess while you’re at it?”
Yeah, I wish. If they earned their keep and acted like little fairy godmothers and actually did something useful like tidying up the playroom I might not be tempted to crush the living shit out of them. Sometimes I’m lazy and just stare at them overtaking my house. But most of the time I’m on a mission. Rolled-up magazine in hand, I hunt those little fuckers down. Yesterday, I even broke out the vacuum and started sucking them up like some giant black hole had descended upon them. This is when it really pays off to have a 5-year old son who enjoys torturing insects. He likes to give the ants a slow, painful death by dissecting them with his Swiss army knife. I’m all for it.
Despite our many ways of killing them, the ants are still here. And it’s been nine months. I wrote about this problem before (Ant That Grand). We had someone come and spray in August, and again this winter. But it’s obviously not working. Yesterday I was laying on the couch watching TV when I heard this strange dripping sound that I couldn’t figure out. When I got up to pick up a bunch of the kids’ books that were on the floor, I discovered 15 ants crawling around. I think they had parachuted in on some kamikaze mission to drive me insane and totally gross me out. The ‘dripping’ sound was them landing on the books. I was mortified.
Unfortunately, the ants’ presence has done nothing to diminish my appetite. Eight months pregnant, and I am constantly hungry. I eat, and I’m hungry 30 minutes later. I stay up at night fantasizing about what is the most filling food I can find. I wake up at 4 am starving but too lazy to go upstairs to the kitchen. I would eat my comforter if it was edible.
Being this hungry all the time is work, I tell you. I think I now know what it must be like to be a 15-year old boy. Without the pimples and hard-ons.
What I need is a live-in chef and pest exterminator. They would be two separate positions, of course. I can’t have someone cooking me up ant stew. Unless it was super filling. And tasted like chicken.
Update: As I am writing this, I just spotted an ant for the first time ever in my bedroom. It crawled up on my desk. I think it was carrying a gun and threatening me. I squished it with a yellow sticky note that said “Die, ants, die!” Hope they got the message.