The Antyville Horror!

I woke up this morning with a very sore throat and so called in sick of course. Unlike some of my otherwise very sweet co-workers, I do not go in to infect others when I am under the weather. I stay home, and nap, and drink gallons of juice, and watch more of The Office.

So there I was, napping, while unbeknownst to me, a secret horror was unfolding.

I wake up still feeling sick but a little more energetic after my nap, and remembering that I have an important appointment at 2PM with the bank today, I drag myself upstairs to my bedroom.

I am locating jeans and a t-shirt, and reflecting on how crappy I feel, when I hear a strange sound. So quiet it was a little hard to hear. A clicking.

You know that scene in the Amityville Horror (I am thinking of the old 70s or 80s movie, not the recent remake) where they go into a room in the house and it's swarming with flies?

Well, my bedroom, where I slept last night, where I woke up this morning, where everything was fine and normal and clean this morning, well, let's just say things had gone horribly AWRY since this morning.

Over on the window, there was movement. What kind of movement? A dinner-plate-sized, almost completely solid swarm of FLYING ANTS. And a few without wings, almost an inch long, with huge fat juicy bodies. Crawling on and over each other, and in and out of the tiny crack around the window frame. Licking each other, whispering to each other, carressing each other. (Or so I imagined.)

I nearly barfed.

Then I realized a few of the pack had wandered off. On the floor. On the dresser. ON MY BED. Those ones I killed right away, with a tissue and my bare hands.

I ran downstairs and searched frantically for some kind of murder weapon. Nothing. Just furniture polish. And Windex. Not powerful enough, though I did wonder for a moment if laquering them with wood polish would be terribly good (kill them slowly and cruelly) or terribly bad (make them stronger and uncrushable).

I came to my senses (briefly) and called the bank to say I'd be late for my appointment. Then I very very violently shook out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt (even though they were nowhere near the ants, just to be on the safe side), put them on, and got in my car. Zoomed to the Canadian Tire around the corner, and bought an armload of ant killers. The powder. The sugar-flavoured poison. The SPRAY.

Normally I'm not a big fan of using chemicals. Especially not of ones that say "harmful or fatal if inhaled" on the side of the spray can. But they were in my bedroom! Ants! With wings! Big ants! Licking! Writhing! Carressing! Each other!

I got home, ran up to my room, shook the can, covered my nose and mouth with my sleeve, blasted those tiny winged monkeys to hell, and fled.

Bank meeting went fine. Joanne at RBC, you're a good woman.

Came home, vacuumed up the corpses, which were littered about the window sill and floor and inert, like burned rice.

I swear to god though, if I find any in my bed tonight, I'm going to have to go down to city hall soon and investigate if this house was built on an ancient burial ground, or whatever.