I know in this time of social distancing, we're not really supposed to have visitors, but I just can't seem to get rid of them.
Hundreds. Incessant. With so many legs.
This has been the wettest start to the year since they started keeping track over a century ago, at least according to my favorite local meteorologist. And it doesn't surprise me that we get tiny insect squatters after a lot of rain. It's happened in years past. But this is a whole new ballgame. Wettest winter = so many more ants. And somehow they come in through the roof into our bathroom. The room has a high, pitched ceiling with a crossbeam running the length of the peak. Ants like to use that beam as a superhighway, running along it, back and forth, but the dozens and dozens and dozens, until one or several get dizzy and fall to their deaths. On my bathroom floor. Into my sink. On the toilet. Which is spectacular fun to discover in the middle of the night. Crunch.
Chris got out the ladder and commenced chemical warfare last night, which did (at least temporarily) close down the bug commute, but he forgot to remove the bathmats before hosing down the room with ant spray, so, surprise laundry! And then when I went in about an hour later, I looked upon what could only be described as an ant Jonestown. Now, I don't know how many died from poisoning and how many committed suicide, but it doesn't really matter, because who cares when there's a carpet of dead ants on the floor. I cleaned that up, and a while later, there'd be another batch. And another. Thankfully, the batches are getting smaller, but I'm tired of sweeping and the mass grave wastebasket is filled with little bodies.
Kids, time for hygiene class!
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