It all started with ants. Ants invaded my kitchen. Being a softie, I was hesitant to kill them… they looked so cute, so harmless! But their ranks grew. No amount of scrubbing, Borax, or vinegar could keep them away. They threw block parties in my dishwasher. One night, I carelessly left an apple in my purse; when I woke up, it was a portable ant colony. Finally, I was awakened one night by the strange sensation of tiny, tiny legs crawling on my… shall we be clinical and say ‘perineum’? Life imitates art.
Around this time, I started seeing spiders in my bedroom. Eight-legged monsters everywhere. If only they would have migrated to the kitchen and eaten the ants— which would have resulted in hardy, well-fed spiders. Yippee.
Having struck out with natural remedies, I resorted to [toxic] commercial spray and soaked every ant hangout I could find. I did this in the ten minutes before I left for Germany, to avoid inhaling any more bug-killer than necessary. Heartless.
On a related note, have you seen the nest of wasps next to my front door? I faced this trial as I face all of life’s challenges: with avoidance and denial. Sure, entering and leaving the house took caution, and guests on my doorstep were frequently horrified, but how could I kill a whole nest of innocent creatures [with stingers]? They hadn’t done anything wrong, they’d just chosen a poor lot for their condo. Location, location, location.
When I returned from Germany, the wasps had laid eggs. I sighed heavily and bought a can of toxic “projectile” spray which would allow me to stand a safe distance from the stabby-flying-dealies. Yesterday at sundown I bundled up (in case of wasp attack), slipped carefully into the front yard, and killed them in their beds. A mass murder. I felt horrible.
The can says to wait 24 hours before removing the nest, so I have a pile of dead bodies stuck to my house. This is the crime scene:
Reality is a harsh mistress.