THEM!

The other day I came back from work, sat down on the edge of my bed, and took of my socks. On the floor, I saw an ant. Then I saw another ant. And another. What exactly, I thought, are ants doing in my room? There is nothing here for them except me, and though I am quite appealing, I’m sure any queen with even half an ant brain would accept the physiological impossibilities and stifle any nascent affections. Besides me, there was my stuff, and Em’s stuff, in storage here until she gets back from home to start school, including her foo- ah, yes. The food. Sure enough, some brave ant with a poor sense of direction had wandered into my room at some point in the previous twenty four hours, and found Em’s stash, much of which was dabbled with spilt corn syrup that we had neglected to clean after we moved everything. Said ant had run back home, filled the bed of his pick-up truck with a slew of salivating townsfolk, and hightailed it back to my room for the sugar party of a lifetime. I swear to God I heard tiny shotguns being fired into the air with glee.

So I took all the food out back, unpacked it all, removed the more seriously syrupified objects, put the rest in more sturdy, zip-lock bags, repacked everything, and taped that box up tighter than Speedos on a very, very fat man. Then I went to work destroying ants. I found that a wad of packing tape does a great job immobilizing and squishing large numbers of ants at a time. I was like unto Godzilla, or perhaps Mothra, if Godzilla or Mothra ever attacked with packing tape. If they did, they would not have lost. However, ants, much like the citizens of cinematic Tokyo, are numerous, and have a great facility for continuous emergence from the tiny hole in the corner of my room. I therefore found a new application for my new favorite weapon and taped that hole, only to discover that the ants bypassed the blockage by entering and exiting through cracks between the floor boards. Damn them.

I have also bought ant traps, and laid them out around the Ant Corner. I watch the ants crawl in and out of the traps. Their interest seems passing, which bothers me, because I want for nothing but the death of their whole ant society as I perch here on the edge of my bed. After 2 days they have not perished. In fact, they are still here, not perishing, despite the fact that I, the human, have specifically demanded it. There is nothing left here for them to feed on, except perhaps the dead skin cells left after 3 months of not vacuuming. I fear I may have to clean, and that might be the saddest tragedy of all.