In the course of packing things up and moving things out so the contractors can do their renovation thing, I've found photos I'd forgotten about, letters I'd forgotten I'd received. Just today I found the commemorative highball glass (!) from my senior prom.
Today I also found something completely unexpected.
I was clearing off the shelf above my washer and dryer. Earlier in the day I'd noticed some ants crawling up the wall in the laundry room (OK, it's not a room, it's a closet in the kitchen; I've never had a proper laundry room, so at this point I'm willing to be delusional about it). Typically in the spring and summer, we get ants in the kitchen, some near the big window, some in the laundry, um, room. I always figured they were getting in through some minuscule crack. One of those Texas things.
Now, I thought I had taken a picture of the goddamn anthill, but I guess I didn't, so here's a conceptual rendering of what I saw.
|Actual size, for all you know.|
I pride myself on my emotional detachment, dontcha know.
There is another post to be written about how tired I am of living with someone who not only is a slob but who actively thwarts my aspirations to exist in a clean house. But not tonight.
Anyway, here I was, faced with an anthill living on a shelf in my kitchen. What could I do?
Enter the vacuum cleaner.
I'm pleased to report that a Hoover Wind Tunnel Vacuum makes short work of your indoor anthill situations. Use the wand attachment to suck up all the stray ants congregating along the top of the wall after obliterating the hill with bagless suction technology.
|This bad mofo right here.|
"Die, you bastards, die!" I may or may not have shrieked while hoovering the ants and their conical home into oblivion. Let's say I did, because it's cooler that way.
Then I emptied the convenient dust receptacle into the alley and shook loose the few stubborn insects that insisted on clinging to the wand attachment.
Goddamn ants. Making me look like a bad housekeeper.
I already have a soon-to-be-ex to do that. I don't need your six-legged selves calling me out, too.
Ants in my laundry room. Sheesh.
No match for me, Drunkards. No. Match. For. Me.