I hate ants. If I’ve learned anything in the past few days, it’s how strong my hatred for ants truly is. They serve a purpose and I’m sure the world would be quite off balance without them, but I’d prefer it if they served that purpose outside of my house. I don’t know how these tiny beasts managed to get inside or for what reason, but they began their invasion sometime over the weekend. I first noticed a lone miniature red ant crawling along the screen of my phone. He met his untimely end under my finger and I went about my day. Later I found one chewing on my neck; after showing my husband the ant-shaped speck on the tip of my finger, he sprayed around the base boards of our place and we assumed all was well. Unfortunately, I kept waking up with bites and was convinced that in hidden areas of our house, this was waiting for me:
My husband is a germaphobe and we both keep a clean house; the intrusion of these 6 legged creatures instantly made me feel dirty. We began laying traps, one of which ended up swarming with tiny evil ants after a few hours. They seemed to be confined to the bedroom. Sheets and bedding were washed in hot water, despite the fact that we hadn’t seen a single ant on the bed. Mattress was treated and flipped as well. House was vacuumed and sprayed again and more traps were added. Monitoring the trap that was receiving action showed that less and less ants were present, giving the impressing that they were dying horrible tiny ant deaths. You would think this would make me feel better, but you would be wrong.
Everything that touched my skin, from a stray dog hair to the corner of my blanket to a microscopic piece of dust, was immediately assumed to be a stinging devilish ant. Upon doing a bit of research, I learned that the ants will sting multiple times in the same location, more so when threatened or caught underneath clothing, leaving behind a beautiful display of red swollen bumps. Did I mention that they itch worse than mosquito bites? My mind was clouded by visions of attack ants, seeking to avenge the deaths of their brothers by stinging me as much as possible. It cost me a night of sleep Sunday night. And Monday. Oh yes, also on Tuesday.
The reality of the situation was that we had acquired a few dozen ants, possibly from our neighbors activities, possibly from an open window. They had made it into our bedroom and decided to attack only me, leaving my dog and husband in peace. The trap beside our dresser that ended up being swarmed was probably enough to kill out the small colony, while the spraying and other traps will probably prove effective in killing stragglers and keeping others out. Common sense dictates that the problem was solved over the weekend when the first traps were laid. But I’m a girl, I’m squeamish, and anything exceeding 4 legs is automatically creepy in my book.
These ants burrowed so deep into my psyche that I talked my husband into inflating our air mattress and camping out in the living room last night. It was the best sleep I have had in days. The downside is that I let a few ants that are no bigger than a pinhead kick me out of my own bedroom. Clearly the ants won this round. At least I know that if there is a next time, and I hope there isn’t, I’ll be better prepared.