Ahh spring! The days are getting warmer, the pear trees are budding, the daffodils are coming up and an army of ants are mounting their annual assault on me and my perch. Wait, what?! Who invited them to the party? Right now, I imagine that Jen is gonna want to kill me for talking out of school about this but like I told her (or at least meant to), ‘It’s no big deal, even the cleanest and tidiest house gets a few ants from time to time – that’s just how Mother Nature works and we should just go with it. Besides, this will all blow over in a couple short years and people will again feel comfortable stepping foot inside our house.’ It’s not like we’re having that rat problem anymore or anything.

After proofreading this before I posted it, I have to confess that I’ve exaggerated a little bit. A couple dozen or so ants isn’t exactly an ‘army’ of them and I guess they don’t come for a visit every year. Everything else here, though, is based on a true story.

Of course, I love all of God’s creatures but some a lot more than others. To me, bugs are the black sheep of the family. They’re the weird cousins you see once a year on Thanksgiving, they’re family so you have to invite them over, and they always end up getting drunk and spouting off with something like how Hillary, or even Donald Trump, would make a good President. Irritating. (Note to any of my cousins who may be reading this: I just used ‘cousins’ as an example. I think you’re all cool!)

It isn’t as if I’d forget all about Locked-In Syndrome, but nothing reminds you that your hands and arms don’t work quite like as when an ant is crawling around and finding its way through the fine hairs on the back of your neck. Forget waterboarding, the next time we want to extract information from a captured terrorist, we should just strap him to a gurney and throw a handful of ants on him. He’ll be singing like a canary in 5 minutes.

It’s funny, and kind of a waste of time, by the time I spell out ANT ON NECK on my computer to let Jen know about it, one of my little friends found his way to my earlobe. I’ve now decided that I just need to be patient, grit my teeth and let nature, all six (or is it eight?) little legs of it, ‘run’ its course.

I know I shouldn’t get so bent out of shape about it. They’re not gonna kill me or anything, no one put a rattlesnake in my lap nor did a rabid grizzly bear wander into our kitchen – their just annoying as all get-out.

Of course you know, this means war. So, after dealing with this little slice of heaven for a few days I finally caved and agreed to have an exterminator come over and spray for ants. He showed up and walked around our entire house, spraying from a silver canister in our doorways and window ledges what I now think must have been sweet tea or cherry Kool-Aid. Whatever it was the ants sure seemed to love it. He was a heckuva nice guy and everything but I’m still not sold on the whole idea of ‘have your house professionally sprayed for ants’ thing. I mean, haters gotta hate and ants gotta… do whatever ants do. Oh sure, when he first showed up they acted all scared and got the heck out of Dodge but as soon as his van backed out of the driveway it was ‘game on’. In fact, I saw a couple of them crouching down and hiding behind the handsoap using their cellphones. They were calling their friends to let them know that the coast was clear and that they could come out now to resume their springtime offensive. It seemed to me that he didn’t really do anything except stir them all up and hack them off. It was kind of like when you stood on the top rung of the stepladder and swatted at a wasps’ nest that was stuck there on the soffit of your house with a broom –you knew that things weren’t gonna end well.

Actually, I’m making this sound a lot worse than it really is. To be honest, we’re down to only getting the occasional stray from time to time. I think they must be lost. I’m anxious for summer and all that it brings. If a few ants are the price of admission for all of that, I guess I’m okay with it.