The Willow Glen Resident

Point of View

Deborah Taylor-Hollis

Squeamishness is not an option in this battle

Mass murder is such a terrible, normally unwholesome crime, and yet there are those of us who relish its accomplishments. Sometimes wiping out a whole society is necessary, although sad for the loss from our larger gene pool. Survival, however, requires removing the offenders--they have to go. So it is in my kitchen.

There's nothing quite like waking up way too early in the morning, stumbling into the kitchen looking for that first hot cup of steaming coffee, only to find that you have been personally invaded. Huge lines of them swarming over your counter, marching across the dirty dishes (the ones you swore you were going to get to the night before), climbing in and out of the sink at will, cascading over the counter edges and down into the cupboards, the drawers, the garbage.

A nightmare vision of epic proportions unlike anything outside an Irwin Allen movie, coming soon to a kitchen or bathroom near you (if they haven't shown up already). They are...the ants.

My husband recoils in horror whenever this happens, fleeing in terror at the battalions taking over our lives. He thinks it's icky, and I can't blame him. He leaves the dirty work to me, the terminator. I leave the moths for him, though, so it's an even trade.

In the moments when I'm faced with my own private Little Big Horn as the ants roar into view from some crevice or windowsill, I can almost feel the wind in my hair and the pony moving restlessly under me as I call for the attack--and the can of ant spray.

The way to remove the offenders varies with the technique and personal style of the destructor. Mine is to be light on the spray, thereby saving my nose from irritation all day long, and to go heavy on the paper towels. It's a blood bath of unnatural proportions.

First, I survey the scene, checking for the actual point of entry. This must be eliminated at all costs. Their home base is my ground zero, and the only spot I send my nuclear strike forces to hit. Raid at the line of entry will stop the hordes overrunning my borders and create a retreat mentality among their troops. Once I've sealed off the entrance, the truly destructive part begins--my literally wiping them off the face of the Earth.

Wet towels in hand, I mop the outer perimeter, starting just past the initial strike range, creating a field of official battle and clearing off the edges for spectators (my son loves to watch). As they continue to move, making a mockery of my supposed compassion in attempting to give them a quick, immediate death, I begin with grand, sweeping gestures of destruction, erasing whole families, generations, entire worlds, probably. It feels good.

Yes, the mongrel hordes can run (even up your arm); sneak attacks are not uncommon with this foe. But if you have enough paper towels, duly damp for action, and use wide movements and grand gestures more in keeping with Russian poets than army generals, you can win the war in a matter of minutes. After that, it's just a matter of using the smaller "finger howitzer" to dispatch stragglers and those attempting stealthy desertion from the ranks into your sugar bowl. A large glass of water to repeatedly dip your howitzer into, cleaning your weapon and depositing the victim in a single stroke, is advisable.

Squeamishness is not an option in this race. To use nothing but nuclear weapons is to assure your own destruction (at least temporarily) as well as thine enemy's. Nothing's worse than spraying the whole mess with ant killer and filling your kitchen with noxious fumes. It makes re-entry impossible for several days, even for simple cooking projects. And eating becomes unhealthy and unpleasant. No big weapons here--a simple squirt at ground zero will suffice. Use the President Truman approach here: less is more.

And for catching the last ground troops, your tactics should emulate the Uncle Remus stories in this regard. Just wait patiently outside the "briar patch," and, unlike Brer Rabbit, these guys will actually come on out. You'll probably be picking off stragglers for days in sniper style, but overall, it's no big thing.

Simple sidearms will suffice to remove them as they leave the drawers, the windows, the curtains. Without their leaders they are clueless, harmless and wandering aimlessly in your kitchen. To help them come forward and surrender, a dollop of honey on the counter helps, but it's not necessary. Eventually they will follow the water down into the bottom of the sink, just like Custer at the bottom of that hill.

You get to be Crazy Horse or Sitting Bull, depending on your age. But please, no war paint. A superior force should never gloat.

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