Ants May Have High Hopes, But I Will Dash Them. Violently.

I don't like to open mail. I pay all my bills online, I don't open promotional materials, and all the cards and letters my fans send me are opened by my staff, so there is rarely anything to hold my interest in my mailbox. I've never even been sent anything that says I May Already Be A Winner. And if I've ever RSVP'd like, the morning of your event, this is why. Opening mail is just tedious. Rip, open, glance, throw away. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Every so often, however, I sit down to open mail because it gives me a chance to, well, sit down. I had just finished my new favorite thing (as of 20 minutes ago) and I thought I'd take a minute to sit down, under the guise of doing a legitimate task, i.e., sorting mail.

This is how I broke things down in my sorting pile today: True Junk Mail to be Thrown Away (credit card promos, flyers for cheap tires, sex toy adverts) Mail to Be Looked At Later (Pottery Barn catalog, Netflix flyer b/c we've been thinking of joining again), Mail To Open Now (something handwritten, which is the only type of mail I place any importance on) and our health insurance flyer, which I occasionally read because there are New Important Health Tidbits included. This one is about a 10 page newsletter, folded in half and taped at the edge. I slit open the tape with my finger, and out onto my lap fell not New Important Health Tidbits, but ANT Tidbits. As in, no exaggeration, about 75 ANTS fell on my lap. And while they were all trying to put their women and children on the lifeboats as they fell to their doom, some of the selfish ones GRABBED ONTO MY ARMHAIRS FOR DEAR LIFE so at that moment I was literally covered. With. Ants. My lap. My arms, my back (from flailing in the split second I realized what was going on) my legs. Covered with ants.

So I did what any rational, clear-thinking adult would do in just such a situation. I knocked over the stool I was sitting on at the counter and started madly whacking at myself with John's size 13 sandal, which for some reason, was within reach. Then I went on a mad killing spree smacking the ones that fell to the floor, doing the Ants In My Pants wiggle, whacking at my own bum with the sandal. Then I got a few on the counter, then I noticed there was some kind of Ant Commandant trying to organize a whole group of survivors on a popsicle stick lifeboat so I grabbed that and threw it in the sink and poured hot water over it.

And all this time I'm trying to calm down Captain Picklepants, because he was there only moments before, enjoying a popsicle, chatting away about this and that, then he witnesses his mother's Epic Battle Against the Insect Invasion, and ran crying into the other room. He came back only after he was sure we weren't all going to die, and ever-so-helpfully whacked a couple off my back. With his blue popsicle. Then stamped on them (in bare feet, my sweet little hero).

What is it about perfectly benign bugs crawling all over you with all their little feet making that crawly feeling that gives you the creepy-crawlies? I mean, if it was bees, I would've been in a mess of trouble. Ticks, hornets, biting ants, there are tons of things that could seriously harm a person if there's a handful of them. These things weren't going to hurt me but DAMN I can still feel them crawling on me. I think I'm going to need another shower today. And probably a cocktail.

So yeah. If you want to send me communication of any sort, email might be better. Or a phone call. Cuz I'm damn sure not going to attempt that again.

Eff-ing Ants. F*#kers.

1 comment:

donna said...

I will most certainly try to keep my future correspondence vermin-free. Well, I do that anyway, but in your case, I'll try doubly hard.

And yes, you DO need a cocktail. A large one. Not a bloody mary though, because the pepper flakes look a lot like ants and that would just defeat the purpose.