We've been having a little bit of an any problem in our bathroom lately. Every morning when I get up and see a couple dozen of the little critters marching purposefully across my counters and walls. It's enough be be irritating but not enough to take any drastic action again. Brett set out an ant trap which has had exactly ZERO effect on the ants. They crawl around, under, and over the trap but never go through to the delicious poison-laced peanut butter flavored goo in the middle. In theory, they would take the poison back to the colony and the whole lot of they would die off but like I said, one would have to actually ENTER the trap for that to happen.
But I'm lazy so I've done nothing other than just wash them down the sink in the morning and wipe the counter with soap (which they seem to hate... not enough to keep them from returning though).
But last night, A MIRACLE! Brett shaved his beard! Wait, no that's not the miracle. Brett shaving his beard is A Very Big Deal but not a miracle, especially since he really just trimmed his goatee and didn't shave anything.
Side note: Brett wears a goatee regularly. I prefer him cleanshaven but he is SO MANLY that the smooth cheeks that I love do not last more than about 2 hours. And when he shaves off the goatee he breaks out on his chin. So I do not require a facial hair free face very often, if ever anymore. The funny part is that when there is some sort of coefficient of density multiplied by length of time worn for the goatee that reaches a maximum, suddenly and without warning. The maximum tolerance can be reached at any point and during any activity. We might be watching a movie on the couch or having dinner and Brett will rocket out of his chair and hurl down the hallway to the bathroom, hollering, "I can't stand it anymore!" This was shocking and distressing the first few times it happened, but I'm used to it now. End side note.
So Brett trimmed his goatee and left the whiskers all over the counter and sink in the bathroom. Normally this would irritate me but amazingly there was not a single any in the entire bathroom. Not just near the whiskers, but anywhere. It's like the ants deemed our bathroom a condemned site or a nuclear fallout zone.
Maybe Brett's whiskers have super powers. Perhaps I should sprinkle them around outside to keep the feral cats away. Or wear an itchy little pouch around my neck for good luck.
Whatever the power is, it only last as long as the whiskers are present because after I washed them away the ants returned. Now they are in the kitchen and bathroom.
Good thing Brett is manly enough to provide me with a fresh supply of whiskers every couple of hours.
3 comments:
Oh Andrea, were you this funny in high school English class as you sat behind me?
Talented writer are you! I plan many more giggles based on your writing! Hurrah!
My theory is that the whiskers look enough like ant bodies that maybe they think it is a bunch of their own, dead, and they don't want anything to do with them... or they were waiting, and plotting how to ruin your morning some other way... see my recent post about those icky creepy crawlies.
My theory is that they are afraid of the whiskers because they look too much like dead versions of themselves.
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