Ants IN YOUR PANTS! And other places.

The other night when Shea (who's stripper name is now officially Monster Bitch - a whole other post) spread an entire pack of wheat crackers across my living room floor and couch, I caught myself staring at this crummy disaster, and wearily thinking "if I leave it overnight, the ants will clean up at least half of it for me". This is not a sentence I pictured myself saying when I pictured future nicki in Oz way back in 2012. At least not daily.  Queensland continues to amaze me.

I've caught myself thinking about these ants quite a lot lately.  Its hard not too. They are literally possibly in every square centimetre of house.  Leave a speck of food anywhere and I guarantee these ants are going to be checking it out.  They love meat. Sweet flesh, any kind, or juice of meat even.  They can smell it from the other side of the house, I swear.  Poison them?  Ok, but their cousins will have moved in within 2 days, tops.  Thank god they're teeny tiny.  They aren't scary in the least and I've never had one bite me ever.   I'm grateful for this, because what's going on here is a forced co-existence.  When I go to wipe the counter-top, I tap it first with my finger, then wait and watch for the 20 or 30 seconds it takes for them all to scurry off.
All creatures, great and small.

But still, it pisses me off when they suicide bomb the honey.