It’s frightening to find out that sometime in the middle of the night intruders entered your home while you were asleep. It’s even more terrifying when your alarm goes off and you discover the intruders are still in your home.
I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t even sense the presence of an invader, but I was shocked into awareness when I turned on the light next to my bed. Ants.
They’d apparently bypassed the precautionary band of scouts normally used to scope out the territory for possible future acquisition. Rather, this was a full scale attack. They’d planned the incursion well, covering all areas of the floor. The ant sergeant obviously had experience with this type of assignment, because he’d ordered a formation and dispersal of his troops in such a way that it made it impossible for me to set one bare foot on the floor without it somehow infringing upon the Geneva Convention.
I looked down for a good fifteen minutes wondering what actions would result in the fewest casualties of both ants and toes. Killing ants was not a moral dilemma for me – but the thought of ant guts on my toes was. Apparently their intelligence officers had already discovered this weakness in their opponent, as there was not only no sign of a withdrawal, but a continued advancement of soldiers.
I debated picking up my cell phone and calling in to work, saying I couldn’t come in due to an intruder; or perhaps I’d tell them I had come down with some kind of bug. Maybe I’d just throw the cell phone at the ants and hope they’d temporarily scatter and make an opening large enough for my escape. I had to do something, eventually. And I really needed to use the bathroom.
I mustered up the courage and convinced myself that I was no longer going to allow my fear of insect intestines to keep me from getting out of bed. The trail of devastation ran a line from the foot of my bed to the bathroom, then to the kitchen where I keep the Raid.
The ants continued marching as if they were about to overtake a summer picnic when I squeezed the trigger and let loose with enough Ant & Roach Killer to down an oxygen-mask-wearing buffalo. The battle commenced: I with my poison, they with their jaws. But the battle was short. As the assault drew to a close the air became thick with fog, and the smell of Raid “Country Fresh Scent” hung in the air. “Ah,” I thought to myself. “I love the smell of Imiprothrin and Cypermethrin in the morning.”
I’d won the battle, my foes were defeated, my territory protected. But the skirmish was not without casualties on the home front. Even in death they’re an effective foe.
The noxious fumes got to me, I began seeing plaid when I closed my eyes, and I received a massive Raid-induced headache. I had to call in sick anyway.
Next time I’m using the sledgehammer instead.