As Husband Rob was leaving for work this morning (errr… afternoon), he pointed out a big red mark in the center of his forehead that I had pretended not to have seen earlier. Said he thought one of the catrillion ants that had taken up residence in our house s had bit him. I kind of secretly rolled my eyes at such a suggestion, as a proper wife would do.
Later, as I sat at the computer, I felt a sharp pain at the corner of my eye. When I touched it, I came away with a tiny crushed red ant on my finger, a swollen red eye, and a bad attitude.
Reminds me of a time when I was little and my mom reprimanded me for eating cookies in my playroom, saying the old, “we’re gonna get ants.” I scoffed at her then, and then later had occasion to lay on my playroom floor, throwing one of my still-famous temper tantrum. As I was laying there face up, I felt something eating my back. Yep, we did indeed get ants. And they got me good.
One thing I hate more than being wrong is ants. Nasty bastards.
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