Fuck Spring because we got ants.
Not that the weather has warmed up at ALL [it is 21 degrees as I type this] - but the ants decided to visit early this year. And for some reason, they decided to have a destination vacation in the husband's bathroom. Which - how fucking dumb are ants? THAT'S where you want to go? Do you know what he does in there?
Anyway, we tried to deal with the ants in our usual home-ownership fashion, which was to ignore them in the hopes the situation would remedy itself. [Yes, my bathroom faucet is still dripping. What of it?]
When that didn't work, we discussed methods of getting rid of them. Things like, "I think cinnamon is supposed to work," and "Let's just move" and "I think we can set a controlled burn just in the bathroom." Instead, the husband bought some ant traps and put them out in his bathroom and also my bathroom, which is right above his and where some hardier ants had decided to venture on day trips.
Those barely worked. I was not having too much of an issue with the ants, because I was not directly affected, so I didn't think overmuch about the problem [this seems to be a pattern in my life], but the husband was a little tired of, in his words, "FUCKING ANTS ALL OVER THE GODDAMN BATHROOM."
During this whole ant deluge, our two cats were
of ZERO FUCKING HELP. Seriously. I saw one of the cats stare intently
at an ant busily wandering, unafraid, near my bathroom door. The cat
got right down and stuck her face pretty much on top of the ant and then
. . . walked away. Like it was none of her fucking business.
I hate our cats.
Since the ant traps proved to be as effective a deterrent as the cats, the husband talked about spraying to get rid of the ants. I have a thing with smells [I get migraines] and with chemicals [I get panic] so the husband said he'd spray after I left for work one day and he'd put the fan on and it would all be fine.
Remember when I talked about how I went to the doctor and found out I was sick? Well, on that day, which seemed interminable, I had gone to the doctor, gone to work, gone to my flute lesson [because I didn't want to cancel at the last minute and was in a sort of grimly determined march to Just Get Through My Day, Goddammit] and then went to the book club I used to belong to, because they were discussing Gone Girl and I had to talk about it [Seriously, who wants to discuss this with me? I evidently cannot shut up about it.] and by the time I walked into my house at 9pm, I was exhausted and cranky and all I wanted to do was have a nice cup of tea and a tasty treat [not sex, an actual treat, come on, I was sick, there's only so much grimly determined activity I could handle] and I opened the door and walked into . . .
POISON SMELL OMFG TOXIC SMELL AND OMFG IS THAT CHERRIES IN THE SNOW?
Yeah. So the husband had had enough and had sprayed for ants and had tried to cover up the smell by burning a Yankee Candle.
We spent the next half hour or so in one of those immediately escalating fights that happen to all couples [right? They do, right?] where you start out talking about the goddamn ant situation [The husband: "It's not poison! It's organic! It's safe for children and pets! It's made from plants!" Me: "It SMELLS like poison and you said you'd wait and anyway THERE ARE POISONOUS PLANTS!"] and it evolves into every horrible thing your brain can throw at them, up to and including the fact that they don't make the bed the right way. All while the windows were open in order to dissipate the smell. Don't you wish you were our neighbors?
After a while, we ran out of steam, and I went to bed and tried to get the poisonous cherry smell out of my nostrils.
And though it pains me to admit it, the "organic" ant spray worked.
I still think I won the fight.