Last week I walked into the studio and unplugged a power cord from the wall socket so I could plug in my hot glue gun and *a million ants* came streaming out of the wall socket. This required a bit of cursing and yelling, the sucking up of legions of ants with the trusty Dust Buster, and a good bit of caulking, by the end of which I’d completely forgotten what I’d started to do in the first place.
Our house is always under siege by
these little bastards Argentine ants, which are teensy and blackish and apparently cannot be eradicated because they have literally hundreds of queens. I don’t actually mind ants in principle — they’re clean and neat, they don’t bite or sting, but when you see a thick black rope of them snaking across your kitchen counter heading for your freshly baked muffins it’s WAR. Yesterday I opened the dishwasher and it was FILLED WITH ANTS. At which point they started to seem like something out of a horror movie and I began picturing them as the Zanti Misfits from the Outer Limits. There are scouting parties in every room constantly searching for that next delicious crumb and every time I water the plants billions of them come streaming out carrying their little white eggs over their heads — insect morons! I water every two days! Figure it out and MOVE already! Right now the torrential rains are driving them inside in record numbers. It really feels like our house is built on top of a giant ant colony and makes me think of that movie Poltergeist — “When you built the house you moved the ant hill, but you didn’t move THE ANTS!”