June 20, 2014

If it hadn’t been for my neighbor Irene┬ábringing me delicious containers of food, I wouldn’t have sat in the living room for lunch by the box of raisins I left on the floor last night during Letterman. I wouldn’t have felt all warm and . . . warm?

I looked down and saw about a thousand ants on my body, quickly seeing the raisin box filled with teeming ants, quickly realizing the ants were biting me inside my shorts, they were in my groin and biting my boys. I put down my bowl of savory ginger pasta and started slapping. The bowl quickly filled with ants. I threw the raisin box in the sink, I got some ant spray and wiped out the living room contingent, swiped my body clean and went back to the sink . . . where tens of ants were climbing out, Scout the cat licking up the unsprayed floor ants.

The battle was over. I showered and felt something crawling on my lower lip. I limped to the bathroom mirror, thinking Die Ant! and watched the wood tick on my lip trying to crawl into my mouth. I dispatched the tick and massaged the ant welts on my boys. It’s only 12:27. Remember Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds?” Tipi Hedron didn’t get her boys bit.

If the birds and the ants and the dogs joined forces we’d be screaming for our mommies.

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