I’ve been complaining lately about the ants here. They are not normal ants. They are nearly microscopic and they are resistant to any kind of spray or over-the-counter concoction of chemicals sold in supermarkets here. A teacher at school has a friend, however, who combats these insects with a special fungus spray, so when I told her I was having difficulties with the ants in my house, she called her friend and today he came over.
“Don’t clean your house,” my friend told me yesterday. “Otherwise the ants won’t come out.” I didn’t tell her not cleaning my house wouldn’t be a problem, that her orders were yet another excuse not to clean, and that I was thrilled. The fungus spray needs to be sprayed on the ants themselves so they can take it back to their homes and kill everyone else they live with. “In fact,” she said, “leave some sugar out in places where you see them a lot. That way there will be more of them for my friend to spray.”
But go figure. Those assholes must have known I was planning on killing all of them because not one showed his face all morning. When Wilson, the exterminator, called and asked to come over, I told him I hadn’t seen any ants all morning, even with the sugar piles out in each room. So he waited a bit and came over anyway. I followed him through the house taking pictures of his bold fungal maneuvers, and also of the piles of sugar that look like lines of coke. On the dirtiest floors in the world. So with just a few sprays around the house, he left me to sit and watch the progress. So far, more ants have come out and are congregating in my kitchen sink and on the bathroom floor. I should probably pick up the sugar now before it attracts more ants, but since I guess that’s the point, I guess I won’t. Again, not a problem for me.