I have new kinds of ants now, not just the tiny tiny black ones. But having gone through Anger and Denial, I’m coming to accept them as part of my family. I don’t even get that upset when they get into my tupperwares. I’ve decided that if people these days are eating insects for lunch, a few ant corpses won’t kill me.
The new phase of calm might have something to do with the Giant Cockroach I found hanging out in my bed the other evening, who has helpfully put the ant population into perspective. After somehow shooing him off the bed I managed to fatally wound him with insect repellent, and off he limped down the hall, while I took the instructions on the can (“spray in all directions”) to heart, to make sure none of his friends were lurking around. Then I spent the night wondering if cockroach-eggs would be hatching all over the apartment, and how long it would take for insect-killing fumes to suffocate a sleeping human.
Thankfully, a friend had a more gruesome tale to make me feel better: they get cockroaches in their fridge. Yep, inside the fridge, in their food. I’m not quite at the stage of eating one of those, yet.