They appear mysteriously, one fat black ant at a time, as if being shot out of some time release capsule, each one being ordered out on a search and rescue mission when the one that preceded it doesn't return. They seem to prefer the kitchen, but just when I was being lulled into a false sense of security from what seemed to be a successful mission on my part with a can of Raid, I went upstairs only to be greeted by one of the big fat suckers on my bathroom mirror. Splat. I decided to leave the shadowy outline of my ant killing flip flop there as a warning.
My daughters are getting a bit tired of my screeching, but my warrior battle cries just seem to get more and more shrill with each ant. They won't hurt you, my PhD friend who couldn't even get a job at Whole Foods assured me as we sat outside to get away from the insects. Neither will the four distinct piles of poop I later discovered in a hidden corner of the family room (one gift from Manny, I assume, for each day I was gone), but I still don't really enjoy having them in my house. Ah, the lusty month of May.
I'm summoning up my positive mental attitude as May draws to a close. I've decided these time release guerrilla ants must be what they call "June bugs," and they're just coming early so June will be a better month for me. The mind can play tricks on you, and sometimes it's just a good idea to let it.
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