Woman Vs. Ant

To most people, it's the first robin that heralds the coming of spring. In our house, it's the first ant. I'm not talking about those cutesy, teensy little ants you see swarming sidewalk cracks, I'm talking big, fat black ants. Ants so big you can hear the pattering of their feet as they explore my kitchen. Every year, we try the latest and greatest spray, granule, dust, gel, mousse, WHATEVER promises to get rid of ants. And generally, as soon as we find one that works, it gets banned. They claim it's because of health or environmental reasons, but I think there's some kind of conspiracy involving a powerful group of Ant's Rights Lobbyists. It never fails, my home will be ant-free, I'll be overjoyed, and they will yank all the bags off the shelf. The last time this happened, I went to the hardware store and asked for the latest insecticide that just happened to be working wonders. My home had never been so bug-free. Sorry, it's been banned, and all stores have been ordered to have environmental waste management services remove what they do have. I'm in luck! Chad works in environmental management services, so I call him up and ask what he's doing. He is at K-mart sealing off and removing all the bags of the offending insecticide. I ask why they are doing this?!?!? He says they have discovered it's a nerve toxin and can cause brain damage. I ask if he can snag me a couple bags before they're all gone. He doesn't answer, so I take it as a "No." Soooo, off to Walmart I go to try something new. We decide to give ant traps a try. I read one which says it's for "sweets and grease-loving ants." Sounds like my kind of diet! Another trap lists the species of ants it kills, including Argentine ants. How on earth am I supposed to know if they are from Argentina? Am I supposed to check their passports?! Fortunately, I'm feeling smug and knowledgeable, since I know for a fact that the current invaders of my home are Carpenter ants. I found this out through a very scientific process. One day my mom came over, and (this is no lie) one ran up and bit her on the ankle. She flicked it off and said in a disgusted voice, "Ew, gross, you have carpenter ants." Moms know everything, so that settles it. I dig through the traps till I find one that not only specifically lists Carpenter ants, but promises to last THREE months. Yippee Skippee. Of course, they just happen to be the most expensive ones. The cheap traps have a little hole the ant crawls into, eats the poisoned bait, and in an Eve-like gesture carries it back to bring death and decay to the entire family. This trap was so expensive I half expected it to have a little maitre d' at the entrance asking for their reservations. There's no cost too high at this point, though, so I buy them and take them home. I set them out as directed and wait. This morning, I hear the pattering of six little feet and see a huge ant clambering across my floor. Completely ignoring my black-tie only, gourmet bistro, might I add. I assume he just didn't see it, so I pick the trap up and move it in front of him. It scurries around the trap. Now I am in a kind of squatting/waddling position chasing this blasted ant around my kitchen. He won't go near the trap, let alone go inside to be tempted by its delicacies. In fact, it runs up the wall in an attempt to escape. I guess it must be weird to have a gourmet restaurant held by a giant following you around. I placed the trap back against the wall, then I hear a little thunk. The ant actually fell off the wall ONTO the trap! (I promise I am not making this up.) It walked down over the opening, and I may be wrong but it appeared to SNIFF at the bait then walk away. It didn't even go inside!!!! I decide to ignore it. As much as I'd like to just step on the darn ant, I am still hoping it will take armloads of the poison back to its family and eradicate the whole clan. Instead, it actually FOLLOWS me up and down the kitchen as I sweep. It would almost be endearing, like a little stray puppy, if it wasn't a repulsive little insect. I am left to assume I have redneck ants that are actually turned off by my choice of high-class dining experiences. That or they have been warned by that Ant's Rights group I told you about. While I am pondering what to do, Elianna comes tearing through with Todd in a stroller, and my little stray puppy ant becomes roadkill. I am left to hope that his relations will be more appreciative of the effort and expense I put into their little Restaurant of Death, and in the meantime I am headed out to the garage to see if I have any more bags of that stuff they banned a couple years ago...