Our house has been overrun by ants for several weeks now. In the grand scheme of pest infestations, I guess ants are about as good as you could hope for. They don’t carry disease, and they’re not even really that gross in and of themselves, but the ceaseless river of ants is just disgusting to me.
If you’ve never had the displeasure of an ant infestation, you’ve never had occasion to appreciate how difficult it is to get rid of ants. See, while the worker ants go out and get food and water, the queen just keeps making more ants. And that bitch be fertile. Queen ants can lay thousands of eggs a day, so if you don’t kill her, which is proving to be quite difficult to do, you’re treated to a new horde of ants every week or two when all of the eggs hatch.
There is a healthy amount of despair that comes along with this seemingly perpetual cycle. My wife and I just want the ants gone, but every time we think we’re close, more ants. The worst part is that my stupid brain can’t stop making ant jokes and puns.
For instance, I want to call my aunt Rona and invite her over to sit in the ante-room. We’ll discuss antiquities because she’s the antithesis of modern. In fact, she majored in anthropology at Antioch college. Her opinions can be quite antediluvian at times. One time, after she tore her anterior cruciate ligament, she became quite the antagonist. We didn’t anticipate that, so we gave her some anti-anxiety medication. We also gave her some antacids because her stomach was upset.
This garbage is all that goes through my brain as I’m mercilessly killing ants. And I’ve easily killed two hundred ants at this point. I’m not talking with poison, I’m talking direct action. I’m the Green River Killer of ants. Yet still they come. Deep sigh. Oh well, off to set more traps.