The exterminator just left.
With the arrival of warm weather, we've been blessed with an infestation of tiny little ants. They don't seem interested in our water or our food. They just want to run around on the kitchen countertops and drive me crazy.
Like most people in Albuquerque, I'd wager, we have a regular pest control service. This is the desert. There are bugs. We don't want them in the house. Period.
Most of the time, the every-other-month service is plenty. But these ants showed up, and I've had exterminators here twice in a week, pitching God-only-knows what kind of poison at the little pests. I think they've got 'em this time. Only time will tell.
The ants are most active when we're asleep, so I stumble onto a parade of them every morning when I make coffee. I crush the little buggers and mop up their corpses with a damp paper towel. Usually, I try to be quiet about it, but the other day there was an alarming swarm, so I snatched up a fly swatter and started wailing away at the tile countertop.
From the next room, Kelly says, "What are you doing?"
"With what," she says, "a FORK?"
I told this story to the pest control manager when I called about the ants. He got a big kick out of it. Not many of his customers, I'm thinking, go for the laugh. He sent someone right away.
And now we wait.