Call an exterminator. For my face.

I read somewhere that this is going to be a horrible summer for ants. (I think they say this every year. Who are they and what do they know? Seriously?)

So, sure, you might have them aggresively line dancing around your sink basins. Scaling the cabinets one by one searching for points of entry and trampling over one another like big jerks when one is located. Circling the opening of your box of Cheerios in the cupboard, parachuting into the sweet goodness when the coast is declared clear and gobbling to their heart’s content.

I, on the other hand, have them in my ears. Yep. Ants in my ears. You heard correctly. Must not have any in yours. Congratulations.

You think I’m kidding? Here it goes.

Yesterday afternoon, I found an ant in my ear. Truth.

I happened to be facing the mirror, pulling my summer mane back into a pony tail when I spotted it.

The little personal-space-intruder lined herself* up with my cartilage piercing which hasn’t had a pretty stud in it in over a dozen years, and for a second I thought, when did I put that in?

*I’m sure you’re wondering how I knew it was a female ant as I referred to it as a “she”. While I am neither an ant scientist nor bug lover of any sort I am absolutely certain it was a girl ant. You think a guy ant would realize he should strategically place himself where an earring once was while attempting to burrow and look for sweets on a female human being?

Uh, no.

A guy ant would crawl right across my cheek and lose a body part on my lip and then freeze with panic and just wait for my angry, fat hand to slap him off me. Total giveaway.

This little chick did her research and knew I’d have to at least do a double take to recognize her presence if she pretended to be one of my many fashion accessories. Well played, she-ant. Brava.

Anyway, naturally I freaked and stuck a Q-tip all the way through my ear hole to my vena cava. Really far in there. Way past the legal Q-tipping limit. I went all Ringo Starr while I was in there and played a serious set on my ear drum to make sure any remaining ants vibrated their tiny asses out immediately. Fortunately, there were no others to be found.

Which kind of made me feel bad for her.

I mean, clearly she was here, putting her life on the line, trying to stake new territory to impress all of her ant friends. She could probably smell peanut butter wafting from somewhere on my body and thought, this human would be paradise for my ant farm.

Kind of like us humans colonizing Mars.

It was a big deal in the ant world and I ruined it. And since no friends or family believed in her vision, none followed her on her mission and none will even know she was squished between two fingers, her life dropped into a toilet bowl. How sad is that?

Not that sad. Like, not at all. I know.

Ants are gross.

So. I guess think twice before you compliment me on my cute, lifelike ant earrings next time you see me. That’s all I can say regarding a moral of the story here.

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