Dead People

Tonight after Monday Sushi,

which A was tragically not at—

Small side bar: I hate that. The restaurant asked for him, I miss him, etc.

It feels like just some part of you is missing.

End side bar.

So be that as it may,

M and I suffered through it like soldiers.

Honoring tradition, you understand of course (wink).

And then we said our goodbyes, paid the bill, and went back to their condo.

We walked in, I started assembling my groceries.

M was talkin’ about our looming trip to Espana.  

And that’s when I saw this speck move.

Just underfoot, ya know?

Like near my loafer.

So I looked closer.

“Honey, I think you have ants.”

“WHAT?!” she gasped, running across the room.

“Yeah. It looks like they’re all on your carpet.”

M bent and looked down.

Sure enough, there they were.

A medium platoon of ants marching up and down the runner to the dishwasher.

“Oh my gosh!” she gasped while grabbin’ a wad of paper towels.

Then she just went to squashin’.

No quarter was granted.

“This is awful! What am I gonna do?! You know how I feel about bugs!” she said

(still squashin’).

“It’s too bad you don’t have Borax. I think some old man at the Waffle House, who was 900 years old. Red. I think that was his name. Anyway, he told us one time you can kill roaches with that stuff. Hell, I bet ants are the same,” I said.

“I DO HAVE BORAX!” she exclaimed.

We popped the push tab and poured it into a blockade wall in front of the dishwasher.

Then we started vaccumin’.

Suckin’ those little bastards right up.

After a few minutes, M looked at me and said, “Didn’t this happen to Mari once?”

“Yeah. Yeah it did,” I answered. “It was right after I first moved in with him, actually.

Rufus and I were on the couch drinkin’ my coffee.

Not together. Just on the couch.

Anyway, there we were tryin’ to ease into our day and here she comes with that thick Austrian accent, ‘Honey! Zer arh ants everywhere!’

He marched over to the other side of the living room.

Put his hands on his hips and scanned up and down the rug by the patio doors.

And then,” I chuckled, “he says, ‘cha. All zees people arh dead.”

We laughed.

M looked down at the Borax.

An ant scaled it like Everest.

We thought it might plant a flag.

“I don’t think the Borax is workin’,” she said in her dry west Texas accent. “They seem to be crawlin’ right over that shit.”

“Well, I did hear it from Red in the Waffle House,” I said. “Maybe we missed a step. I guess if you’re gonna try an ole wives tale you should prolly know the entire tale before you try it.”