I did all the natural treatments-the vinegar, the eucalyptus oil, the peppermint oil, the pepper, the lemon juice. I finally paid the nice man lots of money, watched him put down sticky bait that turned my counters into a feeding frenzy. I’ve planted mint leaves around my house to keep them gone, and even laid traps down next to our termit tubes in the ground.
And yet, at approximately 7:30am yesterday, had you been in the neighborhood, you would have found me wildly brandishing a can of Raid screaming, “Die, ants, DIE!” and hopping up and down while spraying what I’m sure are toxic levels of Raid into the outlet next to my stove.
They were eating my carrot cake. What’s a girl to do?
I’m no bug-a-phobe. I trap spiders and take them outside, I don’t mind if a beetle wanders across my path now and then, and silverfish, although rather gross, move so fast that I hardly have time to register they were there until they are gone.
But ants. I hate them. With a passion.
It just might be left over from my childhood, when ants used to get into our cereal. There is nothing that will make a child cry faster than pouring milk into a cereal bowl and watching ant corpses bob to the surface. And yes, it’s just that gross.
While living in Arkansas, I got into the habit of putting all my food, yes, including cereals, in big plastic jugs, to keep the cockroaches away. I have adopted a similar pattern here, and have managed to keep my sugar and other obvious ant delicacies ant free. We have also gotten into the habit of keeping our counter spotless from any food items, or at least making sure that before we go to bed, there is nothing to tempt the little beasties.
I got overconfident, I admit it. After all my time, effort, and yes, money to the bug man, I thought we’d won the battle, so I covered my carrot cake with cream cheese frosting with Saran Wrap, and left it on the counter overnight.
And they pounced. Cheeky little bastards.
The big guns, aka Mr. Exterminator, will be coming in a week or two for the quarterly spraying. I can’t wait. Then, there will be nothin’ left but the cryin’. And you can be sure that I will be standing by, watching with glee, screaming again a mantra I have adopted for my life,
“Die, ants, DIE!” *
Yes, the bug man might think I’m nuts, but I don’t care. When it comes to killing ants, I have no shame.
To any of you who read this over at my mommy blog, I apologize for double posting. Time is tight these days, people. Cut me some slack.