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.)