Ant Rules

I was at a social event tonight discussing the ant issue with other ant-o-phobes. Actually, I may be the only phobic person, the others are merely admitting to a violent dislike. I was aware that not everyone has studied these creatures like I have. And there are several rules you need to know about ants. In case there was any misunderstanding, I am talking about the half inch giant black ants, not the minuscule grease ants. My ants are wily. Here are some rules to live by if you see any of them around.

1. If you see one ant on your counter, you have to know that there may be 300 of them somewhere else. The one you saw is the look out. If he lives long enough to signal his little ant buddies, that's when chaos ensues. Suddenly they are all over the place, running willy nilly hither and yon. Kill the look out.

2. If you send someone to dispatch the ants, you must always view the body. Those that are more of the 'live and let live' mentality do not always realize the enormity of the problem and may allow them to escape. Thus, demand to see the body. This applies to all insects who may cross your path.

3. Even if you have squashed the ant beyond recognition, they sometimes exhibit an almost bionic trait and can still pinch and I am pretty sure, come back to life. Thus, you must flush them, no exceptions. Even drowning them in a puddle of ant spray is no guarantee of death.

4. NEVER SHOW MERCY! It will be viewed as a sign of weakness.

They're Ba-a-a-ack

Last week it happened. The ants are back. They have found me. Last time I was invaded I had to move, change my address, get a new hairdo, and essentially live undercover for 10 years. It is sort of like being in the witness protection program, only no FBI. But last week, as I was minding my own business, doing my email, I noticed him. He was standing perfectly still, staring at me, not 12 inches away. I think he thought if he stood completely motionless that I couldn't see him, so I played along. After about 10 minutes, he moved. It was nearly imperceptible. He started to lift his left front leg, and very slowly turn. I pretended not to see. Then it was the right leg. I knew he was about to make a break for it, and deftly made my move. He nearly got away as I was unaware of the uneven surface he was standing on, but I pinched him and then flushed him, the ultimate indignity. That was 6 days ago. Since then I have killed 12 more. It makes no difference to me that 'this is a bad year for ants', I don't want them in my house. And clearly, it's a bad year for ants at my house. I am hoping I don't have to change identities and addresses again. Stay tuned.

closets

Walking into my husband's closet on some days is almost a surreal experience. It reminded me of a Salvadore Dali painting the other day. There was a pair of pants that appeared to be climbing over the rod. There was a shirt draped over the hamper, as if it was trying to climb in or out, one sleeve in the rest out. Shoes were sitting on the floor with socks lazily hanging out the top. Sometimes I think I've come upon them by surprise and they now have to pretend to be lifeless, when in reality, they aren't. It kind of creeps me out. And I wonder why it is so difficult for him to hang up the pants and put the shirt all the way in the hamper. But where would the fun be in that? Next month I am going to offer a course in the correct usage of a hanger. There is still time to sign up a loved one.

shopping for deodorant

I was shopping for deodorant the other day and stumbled across 'clinical strength' deodorant which comes packaged in a box, not just sitting on a shelf with cellophane around it. It gave me pause. Exactly what does this mean? Do people in clinics sweat more? Can everyday ordinary people use this without permanent damage? Can you only use it in a clinic? Maybe it's the stuff you use after a mammogram. You know, they always tell you to not wear deodorant on the day of your mammogram. Maybe it's special mammogram deodorant. I threw caution to the wind and bought some of this special stuff and tried it today, even though I wasn't in a clinic, and wasn't getting a breast Xray. So far so good. I'll keep you posted.

skeletal remains

We live in Minnesota, land of the truly hardy. However, we have experienced some unseasonably warm weather, or we did last week. As I was driving home I passed the skeletal remains of a sad sad little snowman. His happy days were gone. His little stick arms were dangling crazily off his indented body, and all he had left of a head was this pock marked monolith. The next day his head fell off. We will miss your jaunty smile.

But today it is snowing again. Last week there were those goofy individuals who were bopping around saying spring was here. We, the experienced, just smiled knowingly. It may SEEM to be here, but it's not.

pajama jeans

Do you chortle along with me at the various infomercials on TV, mostly later in the evening? Then you go to You Tube and laugh at the spoofs. The newest thing is the Pajama Jeans they are selling. You know, they look like jeans, but they are soft and cuddly like sweat pants, so you can wear them to bed and then to a party. They must appeal to those people who walk into restaurants at the crack of 1 pm, wearing pajamas. This way you could do that, and no one would know, except for the fact that you didn't comb your hair, and the flip flops don't really speak to Minnesota in January. I was intrigued. Interestingly enough, there was a write up on them by a columnist in this Sunday's paper. She says that no matter who tried them on in the office, they fit. It sounds like the Traveling Pants. Do you suppose the books were prophetic? Still, pajama pants do sound interesting. What's next, pajama evening clothes? It might end up in those collections of Walmartians.

Revision from yesterday and more

I got the eye roll today, after Mr Science read the entry yesterday and he said something like, "That would NEVER have occurred to me." Well, sweetie, your explanation would have NEVER occurred to me. He says PSI stands for 'pounds per square inch', which is even more disconcerting than a prostate diagnostic. I suppose this is for those OCD dieters who must know their averages minute by minute. It disturbs me to know this is on my display.

But today I went out to lunch with 2 friends. It seems I was invisible, at least to our intrepid waiter, Pecan John. And that begs the question if he is really named Pecan, which isn't a far cry from other recent baby names I've been exposed to. The manager came by our table and asked my 2 dining partners if everything was fine with their meals, didn't ask me. When Pecan came by to offer refills, not only did they get coffee refills, but extra glasses of water. Was I offered a Coke? No-o-o-o. I got to the register, and both of them were asked if everything was okay, but not me. And people wonder why I'm paranoid.

So, the only conclusion I can draw here is that my PSI has gotten so low that I am undetectable to the naked eye.