June 12, 2010

March away, little black bugs. Ants invade my counter tops making them look like an overhead view of Times Square during the summer rush. Where are they coming from? Why are they on my counters? No food or crumbs to entice them, I guess they must like the view. Ant traps set up but they seem to have some secret decoder that tells them to stay away - "It's a trap! Run for your lives, fellow ants!" I imagine that is what their queen tells them from somewhere high on her sandy throne. Does she send them to my counters in search of a better life away from the hill? Not much going on there, really. Only my hand slapping down on them. Have they sent the smack signal to their fellow ant population? Apparently not. They continue their march to their own tiny beat. No bagpipes or fanfare; no banners or flags flying; only ants skittering around as if they were just set free from solitary confinement. Tiny little hellions, if only they knew my next line of action comes in a spray can. Hate to utilize the big guns, but it is what it is. If they aren't going to go away peacefully, I must take the ultimate action. The atomic bomb to their tiny howitzers. Time for them to return to the hill underground where it's safe. Huddle with thy queen mighty little bugs. If you know what's good for you will run screaming for your lives. Told you so.