Friday, April 15, 2011

Finicky eaters

We've recently been invaded by ants. In the kitchen, of course, where I'm reluctant to use an insecticide. I couldn't figure out what was attracting them. I was vigilant about stray crumbs, damp sponges, but still they came. Not in waves (or better yet, lines that I could follow back), but more than a few wanderers greeted me each time I made a cup of tea.

The mystery was solved when Crash (he may need a new nom d'blog) who has recently acquired a license to operate a motor vehicle, but not yet his own set of car keys, left my key to Math Man's car in the small ceramic sunflower that I use to stash small things by the door. As I retrieved it, I noted an odd, sadly pink residue in the bottom. Oh dear. It had been a piece of hard candy. Emphasis on the had been. The ants had not left much.

I cleaned things up and the ants are slowly getting the idea that we are no longer destination dining (I'm sure the Michelin Guide pour la Fourmi has downgraded us).

Tonight I went to heat up a piece of the pizza Math Man had picked up on his way home. "Put a piece in for me, too, would you?" I opened the box and grabbed a piece, then looked twice. "Do you want yours with or without roasted ant?" "I'm not finicky." Implying that I am?? I sent the lone ant wandering the box to its reward (sorry!) and threw the pieces in the oven, declaring laughingly, "This will blog!" Math Man was unsure what was so funny...."I'm hungry, that's all!"

Photo is from Wikimedia Commons.


  1. :) I like that: I'm not finicky, just hungry!

    But what really jumped out at me was that 'implication' (that I am). What is up with that? I do that way too often for my own good! Ha!

  2. I think roasted ant is a bit of protein I'd do without. TOO funny!

  3. I don't dig ants inside our house. I wonder what EO Wilson does when ants enter his house. I combine a pinch of sugar with a pinch of borax and try not to imagine the genocide I am committing.

  4. Oh, dear... that ant challenge is SO FAMILIAR. We were having the same problem; I traced it to a half-eaten cold-eez lozenge in the trash can. Cleaned up the can, washed it out, and still the hopeful scouts come hunting...

    My 90-year-old neighbor taught me to keep a spray bottle of lysol by the sink: kills them dead and smells like citrus -- but I always feel a little guilty.