They’ve moved into the curb bed. I stabbed the earth repeatedly with a rake handle. They revolted. I stabbed. They widened their search for their attacker. I fled the scene. But, like television teaches us, the criminal often returns to the scene of the crime. I did so, predictably. I did so with some poisonous potato chip crumbs (or whatever they are.) It rained down like sprinkles on a cupcake. Like leaves from a lately turning tree in a winter wind flurry. I left them to viciously scramble over the yellow crumbs blanketing their mound. I have little faith that it worked, but it felt good.
I have yet to check.
I have ants in my pants yet again. We’ve only been in this house a year and a smidge. I found myself shopping today. There’s a school over there. It’s interesting. Is it the right school for our little human? (Is there ever a right anything?) I’ll chalk these ants up to my third day of stomach bug making any vertical moves in the physical realm result in a sharp stick.
The ants go marching three by three, hurrah…hurrah…
I should water the winter sprouts. They’re in the shade, but it’s still 100 degrees outside. That, however, requires standing up.
…
(I watered the sprouts. And checked the ants. They’re still there. I poked them with a stick this time. And am eating crackers now – what a victory.)
