Our late friends, the ants

[kate_schaefer]

I'm as respectful and entertained by the ants as the next person, unless the next person is E. O. Wilson, in which case all the ant-appreciation capacity for all two hundred people stretching out from Professor Emeritus O. Wilson in any direction has been sucked out of them and packed into his enormous and clever brain.

As I was saying, since Professor Wilson isn't in my backyard studying the ants, I don't much mind ants one way or the other. I am charmed by their ability to carry a Sherman tank in their mouthparts. I am amazed at their architectural and farming achievements. I am awestruck by the amount of pain they can cause in my ankles, which I could have sworn were protected against their little mandibles. I am wielding the broom and the watering can, and the ants are gnashing their toothless jaws and scurrying off with their little white larvae.

I did not wipe out the ant colony because they bit my ankles; I wiped out the ant colony because it was built all over my patio, and only I get to build earthworks on my patio. They outnumber me and they don't care about individual death, so they'll win, eventually, but for today, my patio is ant-free.

My patio has fewer ants than it did this morning. One or two. I think.

My patio has much less dirt on it than it did this morning. Somewhat less dirt, anyway.

I'll get the broom and the boots.

Comments

[bedii.livejournal.com]

So, you liked the ants until they moved onto the patio. After that you wiped out the colony there and the yard around your patio is full of dead ants. This clearly entitles you to sing that:

"The ants were my friends,
They're blowing in the wind,
The ants, they are blowin' in the wind."

Thank you! Don't forget to try the veal!

[kate-schaefer.livejournal.com]

Yes. Yes, Bruce, this made me groan, hmm, and snicker. Thanks.

[bedii.livejournal.com]

No problem. I had never heard of Lady Mondegreen until I ran into the comment in "Dave Barry's Book of Bad Songs" where someone complained about hearing the song over and over where all they did was sing about eating a one-ton tomato. That was when I realized there had to be a name for this sort of aural spasm--and in searching for the term I found the most famous one involving Bob Dylan's work was the ants.

As it is, thanks to Creedence Clearwater Revival I always know where to find a bathroom when nasty things are out, and the excuse for any long pauses in a Hendrix tune. Clearly I need mental floss--or a good night's sleep.