There May Not Be Ants

            There may not be ants this year. I wish this for you. They may not awaken this Spring and sleep through the Winter instead, saving themselves for 2020, when things will be nicer and more exciting.

            You may not find one sucking a crumb on the carpet this year. With its little back legs curled in greasy ecstasy. You may not, and I hope not! find a glistening, pulsing cinnamon nest this year. You may not dawdle, procrastinating, rubbing a finger on the trail and watching them wander around and go:

           “Huh?”

            At a pitch too high for us to hear. (Then, the novelty wears off, and you have to do something about it.) I hope you don’t feel a teeny-tiny sting, then see a wee survivor on your arm, biting with all its might for some reason. Imagine its mission, rivaling that of Odysseus! Ending quickly.

            It’s hard to relate to their perspective:

            “I just saw something with eyes as big as beachballs!”

            “Quick! Grab the eggs!”

            How mercenary we become when there are ants. I hope this doesn’t happen for you this year. “Live and let live? But they want the chicken cacciatore! And the breadsticks…”

            And the denial. I hope it isn’t warranted. That the one you saw was “just a scout”. And that one. And that one.

            I bestow a wish. That these things don’t happen. The vigilance and blame.

            “You left the granola out, and now the bastards are sprouting wings!”

            And, the self flagellation.

            “Is it something I’ve done? Is that why they’re called ‘Pharaoh Ants?’”

            This is my blessing to you. That the ants never show up this year.

            May your neighbors may be messier, and the ants pack up for better pickings.

            May the ants move to the Carolinas. Either one. Lotsa jobs there.

            Or, may someone decide to start an ant farm, and gather all the ants up.

            (Why? Don’t judge! The ants are gone!)

            Or, and this is ‘Brothers Grimm’ odds, may ‘Exterminator Elves’ visit, and leave the house squeaky clean. With a reasonable invoice pinned to the corkboard in the kitchen.

            I wish this for you. But it always helps to be prepared.

            To Do:

            Rent a gecko.

            Calculate potential karma points per ant killed.

            Finish that microwave burrito.

            Brief the cat.

            Don’t watch “Them”.

            May ants never arrive this year.