I’ve been fighting ants all summer. My victories are few and temporary. I kill a million, two million more show up. Another million stands ready to give their lives for a cookie crumb. I’ve used poison in liquids and granules, Windex and hairspray. Ants are an insidious enemy.
Some days I acknowledge that I’ve been out-numbered and perhaps, out-smarted. I've considered moving and letting the ants just have the house! But I refuse to leave without a fight.
I discovered a syrupy liquid poison that the ants are attracted to. They cover their bodies with the syrup and return to their colonies as suicide bombers. This stuff must be some kind of "ant-crack" because they swarmed over it for a couple of days like they’d found Nirvana and disappeared for an entire week. I’d won!
They’re back. I’ve begun smashing them with my fingers and shouting, "Tell your friends!" I’m leaving their pathetic little corpses right where they’ve died so that new recruits might be frightened away. They’re not. They’re sending more battalions and using different points of entry. I swear that they’re mocking me.
How many ants are there in the world anyway? If I’ve got this many then they must be crossing borders to get here. Illegal immigrANTS? I’m certainly suspicious.
I’ll bet if ants were invading Congress or the White House this problem would cease! Then again, P.E.T.A.(People for the Ethical Treatment of Ants) would be marching in the streets defending the Ant's rights to receive government sugar subsidies.
While I admire these insects their tenacious work ethic, I’d admire it more if they worked somewhere else. Like maybe at your house.
When my granddaughter was three years old she met me at the door.
"Mimi," her voice grave, "We’ve got Damn Ants."
I know that species well. I’ve got all their illegitimate relatives.