DIE, BASTARDS, DIE!!!

For more than a week, my home has been the haven for a most unwelcome species of guest.

Ants.

My dislike of all things buggy has been well-documented on this site.

In the climate here, when the weather warms up, many people find themselves infested with ants. It isn't a reflection on cleanliness or the lack thereof. They smell food, sugar, whatever, and are attracted to it.

DH and I noticed them about a week ago, and spent last weekend scrubbing every inch of our kitchen, cleaning out the cabinets, getting rid of stuff the ants had gotten in to (both granular and turbinado sugars) and then we sprayed the outside of the house with a broad spectrum pesticide.

Yes, Miss Organic-Hippy-Tree-Hugger used pesticide.

Well, to be precise, DH used it, but I didn't stop him, or insist that he use something more earth-friendly. I do not share my home with bugs. Of any sort. Any method that is going to definitively kill them, and keep them from coming back, is fair game.

The ants were gone for a few days after that weekend kitchen-scrubbing-and-pesticide-spraying fest.

As I was preparing dinner midweek, however, DH noticed one on the floor. Much like deer that jump out in front of your car on a lonely stretch of road, there is never ever just one ant. DH was very irritated. I fluffed it off, saying, nah, we're done with 'em.

After dinner, with the dishes loaded in to the dishwasher, the stray glasses of water from around the house gathered, I took apart our fancy-schmancy coffee pot that grinds the beans and brews the coffee without human intervention, so long as it is set up properly and the timer set. It must be completely cleaned, not a stray speck of grounds from the previous day, not because it won't work if that's not done, but rather because I'm an obsessive-compulsive, and it is part of my evening routine, to clean the coffee pot and set it up for the morning.

When I tossed the grounds from this morning, there were a lot of ants in the cabinet where the trash can lives. (Another rule of my OCD: NO VISIBLE TRASH. The trash can is stowed away under the sink. That's where it belongs, and no amount of argument is ever going to convince me otherwise.) I pulled the trash can out, and ants scattered from the light in all directions. I shrieked at the top of my lungs, summoning DH from upstairs to show him where the tiny bastards were hiding.

DH fetched the remainder of the pesticide from the garage, and we dumped everything else that lives under the sink on to the floor below.

Another round of pesticide application followed, both inside AND outside of the house. I threw a fit when he suggested spraying that shiz in the house, but he pointed out that it is designed for that application, both inside and out, and he'd not detected a whiff of any unpleasant smells when spraying it outside. Grudgingly, I agreed that unless the stuff was sprayed where the ants were hanging out, we were going to play the game of "let's kill the stray ants running around on the kitchen floor" for weeks to come. Not a game that I'd care to spend my leisure time playing, truthfully.


For the remainder of the evening, each time I went back to the kitchen, there were ants on the counter-top. Two or three each time. I'd kill them, bitch about them (loudly enough for DH to hear) and go about my business, only to find more the next time I walked through the kitchen on my way someplace else.

What, the pesticide wasn't enough of a hint for you guys? Freaking die already, geez.

In perhaps an ironic twist of fate, or just happenstance, one of my customers that day had been an exterminator.

Attention, all ants still attempting to roam my house: I have the guy's business card. His e-mail address. His phone number. If you little pests don't make your home elsewhere, I'm so calling him.