I Don't Like Ants

I really, really don't like ants.

I never have.

I probably never will.

But lately my dislike of ants has turned into something close to hatred.

I have seen ants creeping and crawling in their thick little lines all over the kitchen counters.

I have seen them invading the cat and dog food.

I have seen them gorging on vegetable scraps thrown into the garden as compost.

I have seen them invading and infesting every part of the house, including the bedroom floor, the bedroom closet clothes-hangers, the bathroom floor, the bathroom counters, and even the bathroom ceiling.

I have even seen them feasting on old, gooey Jolly Ranchers left in an otherwise empty Treat Bag.

But this was worse than ever before.

I was home alone, and had just made myself a delectable bean and cheese burrito for lunch. I reached into the cabinet to get some potato chips to accompany the wonderful burrito. And then...I saw them.

All over the chip bag.

Under it.

In it.

It was too much for my poor, overwrought nerves. I threw the bag on the floor and rushed for the Ant-B-Gone. I sprayed that bag until dead ants lay in black clumps. I raked everything out of that section of the cabinet as fast as I could and sprayed the shelf. Dead ants littered the battlefield, having fallen prey to my all-powerful secret biological weapon of mass destruction.

And then I squatted on the floor and mourned the untimely death of the potato chips. Also, I may add, they were Rippled. And they were Ranch. Oh, how I mourned their sad demise.

So I will end this cheerful post by repeating, just in case you had not gotten the gist of my earlier comments:

I DON'T LIKE ANTS!!!!!!