We opened the mini-van door today as we were preparing to set off on a family venture and discovered an ant infestation.
Apparently, the ants had smelled the insect promised-land and set out purposefully to claim it. The droppings of pintsized travelers have always provided sustenance to the animals and crawling creatures of the earth; I think it was a provision in the covenant God made with the wildlife as they exited the ark. So, every ant within twenty city blocks had come to pitch in and partake of the plentiful bounty.
As you can imagine, this sort of stopped us in our tracks. I say “sort of,” because we didn’t just drop the landing gear, taxi into the tarmac, and call it a day; there was now work to do. Where once we were going to frivolously burn some gas and some cash jetting around town to craft stores and the like (a complete rebellion against the latest political revelries), now we had purpose.
Did I say “we?”
As daddy…being solely responsible for vanquishing spiders, hunting down and triumphing over cockroaches, and handling just about any event that requires the ability to gently catch and release one of God’s creatures, or turn on a dime and systematically, thoroughly, and unsympathetically accomplish the complete annihilation of whatever might be threatening to rain on the parade of the world’s four prettiest little girls…
I had purpose (and my helpmate backed me up).
I dove right in, and as I contemplated the best strategy for the mission…soap and water, bug spray, flamethrower…my wife suggested I just take it to the Car Wash and pay them to do it. It seemed like a great idea, but in the end, in addition to being sweaty, dirty, and tired, I was also short $25.32, and I hadn’t even put the seats back in yet.
When the bug spray settled and all the little ant carcasses had stopped twitching, all my efforts were rewarded by the smiles of three little girls who knew their daddy, the best daddy in the universe, had made their little corner of paradise safe from crawling critters.
