(I know, I know. It has been forever since I posted. You’re fine. Deep breaths.)
I just waged war against the animal kingdom. I’ll keep you posted on whether I win or not. In the meantime, know that it started with a hard-fought battle in the wee hours of the night and that many, many lives were lost. Countless, even.
I maybe cried a little.
Okay, I totally cried. A lot.
To be fair, I have been ill, in pain, and very tired. Like, I could get on board with a six-months-long-medical-coma tired. I got overwhelmed. Waging war is stressful. I hear it ages a body. I may need to call my hairdresser.
I used well over half a can of Lysol spray, because there is no reason war has to be both messy AND unsanitary. None.
Also, Lysol works almost as well as pyrethrin in a pinch.
Those ants will remember this day. Or they won’t and they will send more troops and I will be ready. (I won’t be ready.)
I will protect.this.house. (I will cry again and make my husband – who works in pest control for pitysakes – get his @$$ out of bed at 11:30 PM on a week night and help. And by help I mean stand there, frustrated with me, and be awake at the same time I am while I haul clothes and garbage out of my bathroom with one hand and wield a deadly can of lemon-scented Lysol with the other. I will wipe up the carcasses later. And when he asks why I woke him up I will tell him it was because I need a hero, gosh dang it, and by hero I mean someone to carry the 4 baskets of laundry to the utility room and to be awake with me. I mean someone who works in freaking pest control who takes care of this BEFORE it happens so it doesn’t actually happen. And I will ask him why in God’s good name we have ANTS when he works in pest control, and he will promise to show up tomorrow and not only pick up the fight where the Lysol spray left off but he will also bring ant gel, more spray treatment, and by God he will crawl under the house and find that trail and he will avenge me!
I will promise to think about trying to remember that my husband, too, has a day job and a part-time night job and that he cannot be my hero if I refuse to get out of his way. My bathroom is only big enough for one person at a time, and even that is a stretch. There is a reason bathrooms are sometimes called “water closets.” This one is more along the lines of an airplane lavatory. But I digress…
He will smite those ants Old Testament style!)
Whew! Longest parenthetical thought EVER. Eat your heart out, Faulkner.
Anyway, I waged war. I am also incapable of not scratching my head, which feels creepy-crawly after all those ants died at my hand. This is psychological only, I know, and yet… so itchy. That is weird, as ants are clearly not lice, so there is no reason for my head to suddenly be itchy. (Stop scratching – you know you are!)
I shall keep you posted. Meanwhile, I shall rest when I can and buy a new toothbrush tomorrow, as mine was gunned down in friendly fire.
It had a good run.
Tomorrow we shall fight another day! (Cue “One Day More” from Les Miserables…)
1 thought on “Under Attack”
Lolololol always so entertaining! Great to read your prose again. Xx