Ants are our friends!

Oh little ants, you'd think that after a few dozen of your scout ant bretheren failed to return from their mission, you would re-strategize and formulate another plan of attack and possibly another location to ship your scouts. You see, my bathroom is NOT filled with sugar mountains majesty and rivers of syruppy bliss to linger in. Perhaps retraining efforts should begin.

I have not had an ant problem since I moved into my first apartment at 19. I noticed around 3 ants on my counter and did what every single gal would do-go to Home Depot and look for a hottie to save you from your own fained ignorance. It was a great plan of attack and as the handsome gentleman corralled me to the pesticide aisle-I perfected my southern accent with some sweet giggles, took his advice and bought some clear stuff with a picture of a cross-eyed ant on it. The next morning after using the treatment, the 3 ants turned into about 1,052, all swirling around my bait like it was nectar from the ant gods. The morning after that, there were about 2,978 ants on the counter. Approximately 33% of those were dead and had 3 or 4 mourners by their side, I was mortified. I cleaned it up and never used the nectar again. A day later, I only had one ant on the counter and a date with the home depot guy. After the date, I deduced that ant would have been better company for the evening.

Now this is the part of the story that will solidify your true thoughts and perceptions of me as a reader. You will add "certifiably crazy" to your list of Seductress traits. Hopefully nestled nicely behind: Quirky-fun-Circus Peanut eating, goddess of light and inspiration (cough).

You see, these ants are not pesty trailblazing ants. They are unusually large wanderers of peace. And if you cock your head and close one eye they are actually very cute. Their bizarrely long antennae buzz around happily, making them cartoonish in appearance. And you know how I love anthropomorphic things, well, these ants are straight from a Disney flick. And they are always there in the morning when no one but me and the Circus Peanut farmers are awake. And since I love to talk....

I talk to them.

I want you to know that I do understand that they may speak in a different language than I and they may only hear a series of chirps every time I open my mouth, but they do seem to listen, their antennae stop the swirling and focus on my every word, which is more than I can say for most humans.

I talk about things like how upsetting it is to wake up and find that a spawn shat in the middle of the night and it was too big to flush, and how this makes me feel less sexy than I should ALL day!!

I let them know how lucky they are that they don't have unruly coifs to style every morning.

I ask them if the Disney depiction of their existence in "A Bugs Life" is accurate, are they really living in the oppression of grasshoppers? Cause if so, I may have to take grasshoppers OFF my list of bugs I allow to live if found in my house, along with Lady Bugs, Daddy long leg spiders and Roly Poly's. This would give me a completely different political viewpoint and the death penalty may be warranted.

I ask them if ant sex is exciting, we laugh and laugh when they blush over the topic.

I question whether or not they had a choice in their career path, because being a long distance "over the road" ant scout must be strenuous. Is there hazard pay? You Know, for risks like, well, me??

And this is where the conversation turns a little morbid. I have them choose their fate. Would they prefer a watery ride on the loo, or a "to the point" squashing. Counter-clockwise twist of the antennae for the loo and clockwise for the squash. The squash always seems to win, but I assume it is only because antennae can not move counter-clockwise.

I do apologize to them that they do now have to die, but also explain that If it were up to me, I would gladly let them live. They come to an understanding that the girls do that "squealy girl thing" everytime they see one of their kind and the "squealy girl thing", as we all know, makes any rational human want to puncture their ear drums with those little fancy toothpicks you might find securing the layers on a Denny's club sandwich. I would use the pink topped ones (see, I knew you were wondering what color I would choose for this act of mercy, because I'm all intuitive like that).

But the real story here is about my son. He says that the ants are our friends and that we should not kill them. He is also the child that after I mistakenly told him that the grasshoppers that hang out around the front door must be "racing hoppers" because they are black with a bright yellow stripe, brought a dozen or so in the house while I was in the back room and was found laughing and slapping the tile to encourage "the racers".

I have watched him numerous times as he carefully scoops up a lucky ant and carries it gingerly to the porch, talking to it all along the way. He then slowly places them on the concrete and to the beginning of their new found freedom. He says a final sweet goodbye and pats them on the head,,, which promptly and ironically,,,

,,,, kills the ant in a "to the point" squashing fashion....

Thus is the circle of life... (insert Lion King music here)

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