Today’s blog is brought to you by the Pharaoh Ant, aka the sugar ant—or piss ants as my uncle used to call them. Specifically the ones roaming my kitchen cabinets this morning. I can't help but remember my uncle's joke where the kid is sitting on the sidewalk, using the lord’s name in vain and swearing at the uselessness of piss ants as he methodically squishes them one by one under his thumb. Along comes a priest (of course) and lectures the boy on how nothing in God’s good earth is useless. The kid’s answer is far from politically correct so I won’t share it here. Suffice to say that it’s that punch line that filters through my head whenever I get pharaoh ants in my house. This morning’s object of their teensy, little affection was the honey I keep tucked up in my spice cabinet, delicious on my morning oatmeal.
Now, I love our multi-legged friends as much as the next person. I even saved a cockroach the other day. Saved a cockroach! ME! I kid you not! He was outside scurrying along the sidewalk on some mission of utmost cockroach importance. My husband went to step on it but I stopped him . . . I mean -- what’s one more cockroach in a city where they outnumber us a gazillion to one? The key, though, is that the cockroach was outside, right where it belonged. Unlike those piss ants, crawling in and out of my spice cabinet, lusting after my honey. MY honey! I got stingy with those ants, thinking hey . . . get your own honey, this is mine! But then I realized . . . that’s sort of what they were doing.
Anyway, here’s my breakfast . . . the same one I have most mornings. Some fruit and steel-cut oatmeal drizzled in honey. And sometimes seasoned with teensy little piss ant bodies.
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