Okay, ants. You decided to invade my house this year in greater numbers than ever before. And, no, we do not want you here. You could probably tell that by the various actions we have taken to make your stay unpleasant.
We started with natural solutions then moved on to poisons. Gel poison. Spray poison. I don’t like to use that stuff in the kitchen where my kids’ food comes from, but I wanted you to go away. We did what we had to do.
But you kept coming back.
To be honest, I was starting to get used to you. I began to resign myself to the fact that I share my house with ants.
But today you crossed the line.
This morning my children poured themselves bowls of nightmares for breakfast. You had invaded their Fruit Loops. When they poured out their colorful o’s there were small black invaders crawling all over it. An unappetizing army emerged from their highly-anticipated, weekend-only sugary treats.
Do not mess with my children’s ability to have a semi-autonomous breakfast.
Sure, the bag probably wasn’t closed well. Sure, maybe we should have poured the cereal into an air-proof (and ant-proof) container. Maybe I should transfer all our food into hermetically-sealed, artistically-labeled, Tetris-stacked containers like an OCD Pinterest princess with too much freetime. But I don’t want to do that. And to say I need to do that to keep ants out of my food is victim blaming. This is not my fault.
We are done with you, ants. My husband has said, “I’m going to get rid of the ants for good.” I’m not quite sure what he has in mind. Perhaps he is going to light the kitchen on fire. At this point I’d probably support that.
It’s over, ants. You are not welcome in my home. This is war.
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