I don’t like bugs.
Really. I can’t stand them at all.
Okay, I like butterflies, but they are pretty. So I guess I don’t like ugly bugs, which leaves quite a few kabillion of them.
But I live by the adage of “Live and let live.” If they don’t bother me, I won’t bother them.
The ants that invaded my kitchen recently—they fell under the “bother me” category.
I work from home. So I will come down from my office during the day and get lunch or a snack. On the day in question—heretofore forever to be known as “The Day Wojo Had a Bug-Related Meltdown”—I had made my lunch in the kitchen like any other day. No problem.
A mere two hours later, when I came down to get a banana, chaos had ensued.
I didn’t see them at first. Then I looked out of the corner of my eye at our laminate counter. My first thought was, “This stuff is such a piece of crap” because I thought that what I was seeing was a big stain.
I was wrong. Really, really wrong…
When I looked at the mass head on, I realized that it wasn’t a stain. It was ants.
Tons and tons and tons of ants.
In fact, other than on a science program, where they show you colonies of ants doing something, I had never seen so many ants before in my life.
I may have blacked out for a moment because the next thing I remember, I was pounding on them with paper towels.
SMASH…SMASH…SMASH…
It was like a scene out of a horror movie—the more I smashed them, the more seemed to appear.
I got out a spray bottle full of bleach-based cleaner and began spraying them.
They shook it off and kept walking.
All over my countertops. And on the stove. And all over the clean dishes in the drainer next to the sink.
Clunk…Oh, sorry. I must have fainted there just from thinking about it.
When I realized that my spraying and smashing techniques weren’t doing anything, I did what I do best—I called my husband and freaked out.
“Oh, it will be okay,” he said. “I’ll get some ant traps and spray on the way home, and I’ll get rid of them then.”
Did I mention that he wouldn’t be home for another four hours?
By then, these super ants would have taken over the whole house. They would have tied me up and been raiding the pantry. Some would be cooking a roast, while others invaded the living room and watched cable.
Um, four hours from now was not going to work.
Because my husband and I have been together for quite some time, he knows when I can deal with something on my own. And he knows when we could end up as the next couple on “Divorce Court” if he doesn’t get his butt home.
As you can see, this marriage was saved.
While Iwas waiting for him to get here with reinforcements, I continued my smashing and spraying routine. I noticed some were half dead and squirming. I didn’t need this suffering to screw with my Karma, so I just began smashing all the half-dead ones too.
Yet they kept coming. I wondered if they were turning into zombies and coming back. Because how in the heck would they just keep pouring out of the tiny space between my stove and countertop? It was like one ant’s parents went away for the weekend, and all the others came over to party.
My husband called to tell me he remembered there was some ant spray in the garage. Oh yeah, and it wasn’t ours; it was left from the people we bought the house from.
Nearly three years ago.
But at this point, I was desperate, so I grabbed the can, and came into the kitchen spraying.
Great. Country Fresh Scent.
I think that this is when the ants began laughing at me. Not only couldn’t I kill them, but now I was also giving them the nice smell of the outdoors—where they should be in the first place.
Just before my husband got home, I saw ants climbing up our cabinets.
Seriously?! Did they think they weren’t freaking me out enough, so they needed to make little ant ladders, holding on to each others little legs, and making a bridge to look for food?
I began to wonder if a bomb would work. And not the bug-spray kind.
Before I blew up my kitchen, my saint of a husband arrived. He moved the stove out (and I thought there were a lot in the kitchen, but those behind the stove—shudder). He sprayed them. He put down traps. He then had to sweep up the bodies because there were so many.
I didn’t care how he got rid of them. I was just glad they were gone.
Later that night, I realized that during this whole afternoon bug war, I was wearing a T-Shirt that reads Co-Exist.
After my episode with the ants, I realized that there are some times when we all just can’t get along.
Michele Wojciechowski writes “Wojo’s World™” from her ant-free home in Baltimore, Maryland. Got any thoughts for Wojo? Reach her at MWojoWrites@comcast.net.