Conquering Vertigo

Ants Ants Ants!

It's nature's rich pageant, said the man.
I went to Defcon One, because "nature's rich pageant" is a marital code phrase for something very unpleasant. When Richard speaks of NRP, it's in sentences such as: "Global warming, ahh, nature's rich pageant." "Hurricane Katrina's devastation, ahh, nature's rich pageant."

The only other phrase from Richard that equals it for sheer fear is: "So I was shopping online today..."

Unceasing columns of ants marched from the surrounding sand dunes into our house. I waged war with every weapon at my command, while Richard provided the color commentary.

• "They're just coming in because it's raining," he said. "They don't like the rain."
• "Killing them doesn't stop them."
• "They're not food ants, just those outdoor sand ants, part of nature's rich pageant."
  
• "They're just looking for a dry place -- as soon as it stops raining they'll leave."
  
• "They know you don't like them. It's the blond one, they murmur to themselves, she's the one we need to get."
  

Richard was unfailingly and infuriatingly calm about them, as they took over our house.

It was like Sherman's march through Georgia, like having the 41st Infantry show up uninvited at your doorstep. The ants were performing army maneuvers in our kitchen, hoisting apples and oranges while grunting "hoo-wah!" to each other.

I don't know but I've been told
(I don't know but I've been told)
These damned ants don't like the cold.
(These damned ants don't like the cold.)

Thousands upon thousands of them poured into our house, marching up and down and back and forth. As I plotted antacide, Richard counseled patience. "When the soil dries out, and their little tunnels are safe again, they'll go back. They don't like the cold floods, and their tunnels collapse," he said, "so they're just harmless ants looking for shelter."

Mame was a harmless aunt looking for shelter.
These buggers are going down.

I'm all for nature's rich pageant, really.
I took science classes.
I know that the ants turn the soil so the birds fly and the cows moo and we have lovely Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand. All because the ants are toiling ceaselessly. I get their value OUTSIDE IN THE SOIL.

You see, ants are crucial contributors to the World As We Know It when they're living OUTSIDE IN THE SOIL. They're not doing much for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field if they're in my house, marching ceaselessly and starting to invade the pantry.

"Tolerance," counseled Richard, "tolerance, my pet. Live and let live, they'll go back outside."

My antolerance turned into intolerance when I looked in the mirror and saw an ant marching across my forehead, while another played in my hair.
Can you envision my antsy little dance, while I ensured there were no ants in my pants?

All out war was declared.

I called The Presidio, where we live.
"Our apartment is inundated with ants," I said.
"Yes," the woman said, "they're just looking for a dry place."
I stared at the phone for a minute.
"Thousands of ants are marching through my kitchen," I said.
"Yes, I'm sure they are," she agreed. "It's the rainy season, and they don't like the cold and rain."

Don't like the cold and rain?
They're ants!
If they don't like the cold and rain they don't get to be part of nature's rich pageant.
Harboring these ants is wrong.
Our civilization depends on hard-working ants, doing whatever they're doing so the bees and the birds can do their things.

Charles Darwin would not have approved of these wimpy ants. Natural selection dictates that only those who adapt and survive should thrive. These ants aren't adapting, they're HIDING. Real ants, true ants, would be making tunnels that can withstand the cold and rain of San Francisco. Hello? Calling all San Francisco ants -- guess what? It rains here. It's cold. Adapt or perish, and stay the hell out of my kitchen.

My ant-idote?
I went to Houston on a business trip.
I never imagined, in my wildest dreams, that I would think, "I'll go to Houston and escape the bugs."

Richard says the house is ant-free now, that they're all back outside in their little tunnels.
I'd like to believe they're gone, but I c'ant.

posted by Woman In Love @ 5:28 PM