I caught pinkeye. Yesterday I woke up and it was real bad; my eye was matted shut and everything. I got some medicine and all, but the next day (this morning) it was still taking a toll on me. Oh well, the day goes on, right?
I woke up, shut off my stupid alarm, and headed down the hallway towards the kitchen so I could put some of that wheat bread in my toaster. I entered the kitchen to a very unpleasant surprise.
Apparently I had left a few too many crumbs in the toaster, and a few too many plates with traces of food in the sink. I observed armies of ants making their way through my window, down the wall, accross the counter, and into my sink and toaster. This is not just a few ants, this was an infestation. My toaster was beginning to take on the color of the ants, it was that bad. I would guess 500,000 ants. I had never seen anything like it.
My first thought: “Forget the toast, I’ll settle for an Egg McMuffin.”
My second thought: “kill. Kill. KILL!!”
And so began my anhiliation. I pulled out a can of ant-killing Raid, and had my way with the ants. I soaked my window ledge, I soaked the crevices of the couter where the ants were crawing. I wiped those insectal carcasas off my counter, taking their living friends with them in the paper towel to an eternal grave we know as the trash can. Then I went back and sprayed some more, killed some more. I had myself a little “ant holocaust.” If those ants were just a little bit bigger, I would be bragging about how much like Rambo I must have seemed.
13 hours later, I returned to my home and observed the war field. There were still a few dead ants laying there and I looked at them for a moment. And then I saw it. I saw a leg twitch. No… a couple legs twitched. There was one ant that had not given up. After all he had gone through, with his dead ant-friends surrounding him, he was still trying to make it back. I thought, “poor bloke,” he’ll give up here in a minute.
4 hours after that I went back to observe this little engine that could. He had stopped trying. I studied him for a long time, and there was certainly no movement left in that little guy. Then I blew on him, ever so slightly. A little harder. Dead ants around him began to blow away. A little harder. The one ant that could not give up began to blow away as well, then he stopped. I wondered why. I looked closer and he had stopped himself! He had reached out a little “feeler” arm and stopped himself from sliding any further. I continued to watch as he began his struggle once again. Waving his three operational arms around trying to get home.
I like this story. Hopefully you “get it.”