I did some dishes at 10AM. No problem. Talked to friend Kelly by telephone for one hour. Returned
to kitchen. Huge Problem: ANTS.
I usually begin ant extermination efforts with the least toxic alternatives. I do this every time even though the least toxic alternatives never work. I feel as though I owe it to myself, my pets, and my planet to at least try to keep from poisoning us all. This was, however, the third consecutive day and undoubtedly strongest assault by the ants to date. I went straight to the Raid.
I did take the time to clear the dish drainer and scald any wayward riders on the bowls and saucepans under the faucet before transferring the dishes to the kitchen cart which was behind the line of attack. I boiled, sprayed, and cursed the entire Formicidae family worse than the Prince of Verona every dreamt of doing to the Capulets or Montagues. My splatter screen for frying was alive with the tiny monsters and I subjected the screen and its plunderers to more hot water, then took up the spray can.
I followed the moving line of aggressors across the backsplash, up the door trim, and to the upper corner of the exterior door from whence they apparently came. I worked my way back, my finger pressing the trigger of the can in an unbroken stream of disgust, to where the dish rack had been. I set down the spray can only to rearm myself, this time with a spray bottle of 50% chlorine bleach mixture. I began wiping out the aliens with more hot water and repeated blasts of bleach solution. I picked up the Raid and stomped down the basement stairs.
The nice man who has been living in my downstairs bedroom suite has been gone for the holidays. My keen sense of impending danger told me there would be more ants down there. I peeked around the corner into the bathroom which was alive with the little bastards. The can was getting lighter and lighter, but I fired with even more determination at the sink and the wall, avoiding his toothbrush and toothpaste with care. Collateral losses of any mammals in an ant war are inexcusable.
I checked around his bed, around the door and window frames, firing at the occasional reconnaissance troops, then went back to the hallway. There, sneaking like the mindless infantry they are, was one final trail of ants. I used the last of the Raid on them, opened a window, and left.
A shower was definitely in order, so I trudged up the second flight of stairs to my bedroom. Because my cottage has tiny rooms, the toilet practically sits in the landing. I noticed that it hadn't flushed when I last left it. Thoughtlessly, probably due to the adrenaline rush that had yet subsided, I flushed it again.
My neighbors probably thought I was being dismembered. Disasters often seem to happen in slow motion, and the bowl filled, and continued filling for what seemed like several minutes. When the dirty water reached the rim, it stopped. Sobbing with relief, I ran back down two flights of stairs, grabbed the plunger and yet more chemicals from the basement. I've had enough plumbing problems in this old house to know that one should begin with the lowest level and work your way up to find the source of the problem. I flushed the basement toilet. It worked fine, and the discharge pump gave a comforting thump and shudder. I raced up to the open laundry drain where once before a geyser of yucky water had erupted. No gurgling there but to be certain, I poured the contents of the old bottle of Liquid Plumber down it. Liquid Plumber should not have chunks, but this bottle did. I figured them to be the result of evaporation, so I followed the chemicals with a full pot of boiling water. Nothing. I had successfully isolated the source of the problem: the upstairs toilet itself.
Tentative but determined, I began churning butter, standing well away from the bowl. Under these circumstances, even those of us who are not lanky and long of limb develop the wingspan of a golden eagle. I vanquished the clog in only five pumps. With tremendous trepidation, I pushed the handle down again. The bowl emptied, and fresh water joyfully rushed in.
I sit exhausted, reeking of toxic chemicals and sweat. I have done battle, and I have won. Now I'm gonna go take a shower and then find out what color ants turn when you bleach them.
WARNING: Some readers may find the following photos disturbing.
