My house has been invaded. Infested if you will.
By millions and millions of tiny, little ants. They are so small that you can hardly see them. They are such teeny beasts that I couldn’t even get a good picture of them on the camera. Plus, they hide in the corners like the creatures of darkness that they are.
Yet despite their small size, they apparently breed like microscopic rabbits because they are ALL over my kitchen. They have found the boxed cereal, the compost bucket, the kitchen sink, and the table. No doubt they will be in the refrigerator tomorrow.
Cool temperatures are no deterrent to these relentless pests I’ll wager since bug spray has done NOTHING to halt their takeover of my house. No doubt at this exact moment, some soldier ant is reporting to the Queen “Ma’am, our objective for a total Bunkersdown conquest is within sight. May we arm the torpedoes?” The fact that in my head this imaginary scenario involved Russian accents much like Sean Connery’s in The Hunt for Red October has done nothing to lift my mood.
I feel…..dirty. Very itchy. And close to tears.
In a valiant effort to stop me from crying, my husband has resorted to old school tactics since modern technology and a shop-vac have availed us nothing. He has broken out the borax/sugar combination. I’m pretty sure when he sprinkled it in the cupboard he channeled his inner Russell Crowe and said, “Unleash Hell.” Sadly I have no proof.
So to recap:
Ants are taking over my house, I feel unclean and now the tiniest bit turned on. (Sue me, Russell Crowe is a HOTTIE.)