The bugs have declared war.
It seems the spiders I killed had mob connections.
This morning I awoke to find a teeming trail of sugar ants snaking around the kitchen floor. No ant spray, so I assaulted them with Windex and wiped their disinfected corpses up with paper towels.
Two hours later they were back, in force. Another round of Windex and paper towels, taking care to liberally coat the little crack under the door where they were gaining entrance. One of the more stalwart little soldiers escaped from the paper towel and ran up my hand to bite me between the fingers. It itches.
Later, in the car, I made to brush a stray hair from the underside of my arm only to discover that the little tickle I was feeling was made by a tiny spider, who, once discovered, skittered for the safety of my sleeve, nearly causing a fatal collision. (No doubt that was the plan all along.) I flicked it away only to have it catch itself by a slender thread and dangle from the steering wheel before lowering itself rapidly into my lap.
Have you ever seen someone do the Icky Spider Dance of Girliness while navigating five o’clock traffic on Appleway Avenue?
I was slapping my legs and my belly and feeling hugely thankful that I wasn’t wearing a skirt. And the way I was stomping around on the floor, it’s a wonder I didn’t rear end the Dodge Ram in front of me. I still don’t know what became of the little eight-legged ninja. It may have lived to fight another day. Just typing this, I feel like it’s crawling on me.
I don’t know what to do. I see the ants are regrouping now. If they carry me off in the middle of the night, just remember this: they started it.