We had an ant infestation last week. They were all over the kitchen. Sink, counters, stove top, even crawling up the freaking curtains! And it was all Dan’s fault.
Dan had taken out a bowl of forgotten salad from the back of the fridge and just set it in the sink instead of cleaning it out. I didn’t see it until the next morning when I wake up to – ants. Lots of ’em. Those nasty little black bastards. I saw them as I was leaving the house. I wrinkled my nose and just kept walking out the door. I thought, “That lazy bastard didn’t clean out that fucking salad bowl and now we have ants. I’m gonna kick his ass when I get home!”
I went to work, ignored the problem all day and then came home. Dan had been home for a couple of hours (his work schedule is shifted two hours before mine). I’m figuring that he’s taken care of his mess. So, I walked in the door, put my stuff away in the mud room, walked in the kitchen and glanced at the sink. The “LA’s Totally Awesome” cleaner was out and there were little streams of dead ants stuck to the counter. He’d sprayed them to death. But guess what else I saw. You guessed it! That damn salad bowl was still there full of slimy ass salad just begging for more ants to come and carry it away. They could have done it, you know, there were *that* many ants.
Dan saw me looking at the sink and just standing there all pissy and he says, “Yeah, I saw them when I got home and I killed them.” So I countered with, “Really? You pulled the salad out and just sat the bowl in the sink? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m *not* dealing with that shit.” When I started that sentence, I was just exasperated, but by the end of it, I was shaking mad. I’m sure most of you can relate to that kind of pissed-offed-ness.
Dan looks at me patiently with the appropriate “I know it’s my fault, I’ll deal with it” look and he begins cleaning out the salad bowl. Crisis averted. I’m still pissed off, but when am I *not* a little pissed off? We go to bed and I dream of getting assaulted and eaten by ants, kinda like in that Tales From the Crypt episode where the germaphobe gets eaten alive by cockroaches.
As I’m leaving the house the next morning I see, you guess it, ANTS. What. The. Fuck. Chuck? They’d made their way onto the stove top to get at a sauce pot I left sitting there. Oh shit. Now, let me tell you the other half of this story.
The night before Dan left out the slimy ass salad bowl, I’d made baked spaghetti. But not just any baked spaghetti. I had substituted real onions for those dehydrated ones from the dollar store. I’d originally bought them to use as a substitute for onion base. I mean, really, who wants to pay $5 for onion base when they can pay 50 cents for those stupid dried onions? Instead of throwing them out when I was done with them, I just kept them around for “emergencies.” You know, because every 15 seconds there’s another onion emergency. I’m talking emergencies such as the one I had last week – the HOLY SHIT I WANT BAKED SPAGHETTI BUT I DON’T HAVE AN ONION kind of emergency. I was too lazy to go to the store less than 5 minutes away for a freaking onion.
You ask, “But what does that have to do with the price of tea in China, Jen?” Well, I’m a nasty bitch and didn’t wash the sauce pot. I rinsed the hell out of it, but it wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher and by the time I was done making my spaghetti, eating it, rinsing and putting the dishes in the dishwasher, and wiping off the stove and counters, I just didn’t damn feel like washing that big ass pot by hand. Sue me. So, I set that kinda clean mother fucker on the stove so I could wash it the next day. But, the next day was the beginning of the Ant-pocalypse. As I was headed to bed, I saw the pot on the stove and I looked at that damn big ass thing and told it to fuck off. I wasn’t dealing with the salad bowl and I wasn’t dealing with that pot.
I woke up the next morning after a night filled with nightmares of people-eating ants and saw day 2 of Ant-pocalypse in my kitchen. The ants were on the stove all over my dirty ass pot of fucked up onion-y weirdness. Son of a bitch. I had to come clean and admit to Dan that I was the reason the ants were there. Me, my lazy ass and the dehydrated onions. Fucking ants.
I ‘fessed up and Dan put an ant bait/killer thingamabob outside. I washed the pot and wiped down the clean stove, counter and sink again just for good measure. They’d stopped coming in by the next day.
Final score: Ants – 1, Jen – 0.
So, how do you guys deal with ants?
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