Not. Smart.
So, ya'll know I'm not terribly brilliant, right? If for some reason you're not 100% certain, let me help you out there.
Okay, so I have had these two ant beds near my carport for a couple of weeks. One is long and narrow and pressed right up against the carport and the other is a smaller round bed situated just slightly away from the carport. I've been looking at these things for a couple of weeks thinking to myself that I really needed to get the stuff out and kill them. You know, I hate to be a murderess but nobody needs two (or any!) ant beds that close to the house. Besides, the Devil Pup had just about walked through both of them at various times because they're sort of flat on the ground instead of built up. And heck, I've nearly walked through one of them! But for some reason (laziness) I just never did get to killing. Apparently I'm a failure at murder.
And no, this isn't a tale of me reaping my laziness by walking through one and getting eaten a live. That would just be unfortunate. No, this is a tail of me not being all that bright.
Yesterday when I got home from work, the DP and I had walked around the smaller bed and I thought, I've seriously got to get those things taken care of. So, after we picked up the mail (a Snapfish catalog and a loan offer of up to $450,000!!) and the DP did her "business", I let her back in the house and dug out the bug killer stuff from the storage room and hit those babies hard. I soaked 'em good enough that half the bugs in America should be dead right now. Once I felt they were sufficiently poisoned, I smugly went back in the house, fixed supper, ate, watched TV and worked on some craft projects. You know. Snoozefest stuff.
Fast forward to 9pm when I took the DP out for her last "constitutional". I was in my nightgown and the cruddy old clogs I've had longer than the DP has been alive...my "outside" shoes. Ya'll remember clogs, right? Those open backed shoes? Like Berkenstock mules? Those're clogs, right? Anyway, they're open backed shoes. So while the DP was sniffing out which blade of grass she wanted to water, I decided to check the antbeds to see if they were good and dead. And by check, I mean, kick. (You see where I'm going with this, right?)
The long narrow one pressed against the carport appeared good and dead. I kicked it and nothing started running out in chaos to rebuild it's fortress. In fact, I kicked it a couple of times. Dead.
So I smugly bebopped over to the smaller round one and gave it a good kick. Out swarmed a couple hundred black ants to slay the dragon who'd destroyed their castle. I thought, well, crap. It's not dead. But oh, boy. Not only WEREN'T they dead, they were also PISSED.
Yes, my friends, I felt the sting of death by ants on my kicking foot. Apparently I didn't hop back far enough away from the bed after I kicked it because a dozen ants latched onto the exposed part of my foot and chowed down. Eight of 'em actually managed to sink their teeth into me. Oh the burn! Fire raced up my leg, ya'll. I managed to brush them all off but I kid you not, I think they'd rallied the troops because there was a veritable STREAM of ants coming after me. I had to stomp them if I wanted to live because I'm pretty sure they were intent on MY death.
Needless to say, my foot and ankle are slightly swollen and hellishly itchy today, despite my immediate rubdown with alcohol last night. I'm determined not to scratch because 1) scratching only makes it itch worse and B) I don't want them to get infected or anything. Also, it was raining today so I had to wear actual shoes to work BUT I did have the good sense to pack my flip flops to change into once I got in the building. Because ya'll? Shoes rubbing on those bites all day would have been an experiment in TORTURE.
So, there ya have it. My tail of woe and stupidity.
Happy Wednesday!
Okay, so I have had these two ant beds near my carport for a couple of weeks. One is long and narrow and pressed right up against the carport and the other is a smaller round bed situated just slightly away from the carport. I've been looking at these things for a couple of weeks thinking to myself that I really needed to get the stuff out and kill them. You know, I hate to be a murderess but nobody needs two (or any!) ant beds that close to the house. Besides, the Devil Pup had just about walked through both of them at various times because they're sort of flat on the ground instead of built up. And heck, I've nearly walked through one of them! But for some reason (laziness) I just never did get to killing. Apparently I'm a failure at murder.
And no, this isn't a tale of me reaping my laziness by walking through one and getting eaten a live. That would just be unfortunate. No, this is a tail of me not being all that bright.
Yesterday when I got home from work, the DP and I had walked around the smaller bed and I thought, I've seriously got to get those things taken care of. So, after we picked up the mail (a Snapfish catalog and a loan offer of up to $450,000!!) and the DP did her "business", I let her back in the house and dug out the bug killer stuff from the storage room and hit those babies hard. I soaked 'em good enough that half the bugs in America should be dead right now. Once I felt they were sufficiently poisoned, I smugly went back in the house, fixed supper, ate, watched TV and worked on some craft projects. You know. Snoozefest stuff.
Fast forward to 9pm when I took the DP out for her last "constitutional". I was in my nightgown and the cruddy old clogs I've had longer than the DP has been alive...my "outside" shoes. Ya'll remember clogs, right? Those open backed shoes? Like Berkenstock mules? Those're clogs, right? Anyway, they're open backed shoes. So while the DP was sniffing out which blade of grass she wanted to water, I decided to check the antbeds to see if they were good and dead. And by check, I mean, kick. (You see where I'm going with this, right?)
The long narrow one pressed against the carport appeared good and dead. I kicked it and nothing started running out in chaos to rebuild it's fortress. In fact, I kicked it a couple of times. Dead.
So I smugly bebopped over to the smaller round one and gave it a good kick. Out swarmed a couple hundred black ants to slay the dragon who'd destroyed their castle. I thought, well, crap. It's not dead. But oh, boy. Not only WEREN'T they dead, they were also PISSED.
Yes, my friends, I felt the sting of death by ants on my kicking foot. Apparently I didn't hop back far enough away from the bed after I kicked it because a dozen ants latched onto the exposed part of my foot and chowed down. Eight of 'em actually managed to sink their teeth into me. Oh the burn! Fire raced up my leg, ya'll. I managed to brush them all off but I kid you not, I think they'd rallied the troops because there was a veritable STREAM of ants coming after me. I had to stomp them if I wanted to live because I'm pretty sure they were intent on MY death.
Needless to say, my foot and ankle are slightly swollen and hellishly itchy today, despite my immediate rubdown with alcohol last night. I'm determined not to scratch because 1) scratching only makes it itch worse and B) I don't want them to get infected or anything. Also, it was raining today so I had to wear actual shoes to work BUT I did have the good sense to pack my flip flops to change into once I got in the building. Because ya'll? Shoes rubbing on those bites all day would have been an experiment in TORTURE.
So, there ya have it. My tail of woe and stupidity.
Happy Wednesday!
Comments
Reminds me of when my sis was young and we moved with the military to Texas. Texas has fire ants, which we had never experienced.
She was standing in a hill and all of a sudden started screaming and jumping up and down. She tore her jeans off right there, outside. THEN ran inside the house.
She was 11 or 12. lol
And see, this is the nice thing about cold weather: all the bugs be either dead or in hibernation. *g*
Metal Carport Kits AKA SPAM~Glad I could amuse you with my tale of woe and ant bite despair.