The sugar ants had returned to my kitchen while I was away last week, tiny little blighters. I found them last night, a thin trail of corner-of-the-eye movement. They scurried, formicated in fact, almost invisible, past the front of the sink and across the food preparation area. I traced their point of entry, a fissure in the aging sealant by the window, to their destination, a gap in the contact between one of the upper cupboards and the wall.
So I drenched both areas with some climatacidal insecticide. And then again, more spurts for good measure.
I came into the kitchen this morning. At the front of the sink was a rather large huddle of the wee things, maybe 100, 150. Trapped, unable to go home or to go on, they gathered themselves into a group for reassurance, maybe like a township seeking safety after a monumental disaster.
It reminded me sadly of the Japan experience of the past few weeks. The earthquake of my footsteps, the tsunami of killer spray.
I actually felt touched.
So I with a mighty fingertip, like a solid cloud of radiation meltdown fallout, I swiped across their emergency shelter and their vain hopes and wiped them all out of their misery...
End of metaphor.
The Big Idea: Maurice Broaddus - April has been light on Big Idea posts because I’m on tour (don’t worry, May’s gonna be packed), but let’s make sure we don’t get through this last week of...
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