I slipped my feet into my slippers and my toes were greeted by an ant. The ant stare-ded at my toes, sighed, and finally said “Toes? How are you?”
When my toes didn’t respond; the ant sighed again and then s/he crawled over my toes, the arc of my foot, and paused at my ankle, at which point, I reacted perhaps a little hysterically.
Then I woke up to the heat of the sun, and forgot about the dream until dancing around the Treehouse.
Two Wednesdays back, I was in my kitchen and noticed that there were several black ants in my kitchen and so I grabbed my trusted insect killer (Lysol, I love thee) and went after them one by one. And then I Googled “WTF is it with ants, anyway” only more like “Why are there ants in my kitchen and how can I kill them with natural product?” before calling mama and asking “am I dirty because I thought ants meant people were dirty?”.
Luckily. There is an ant infestation in Ottawa this summer, and I am not dirty. Take heed, fellow Ottawans. Ottawites? Ottawati? You have been warned.
(Concoction to naturally repel ants? My back door step is drenched in black pepper, cinnamon & bay leaves.
& For the record, I almost passed out trying to find an appropriate photo for this entry. Note that this gorgeous image was taken by Rundstedt B. Rovillos. Even though the subject matters make me want to cry, his work is truly amazing.)