Kafka on the Beach

One of the recently added members of my household has a weakness for sugar. The arrival of this member was followed a few weeks later by the appearance of teeny little kitchen ants. She claims there is no connection, since she usually uses Splenda™. Unless there are such things as South Beach ants, she tells me, they simply must be attracted to something else. ("Like what? Our tasteful book collection?" I think, but do not say.)

Nonetheless, they arrived. As you prepare to chop a rutabaga or pour your morning Cheerios they scamper out, as if ready to perform an amusing little dance with a straw hat and a cane.

But now they're dead. We bought some toxic ant goo, squirted it on a panel of cardboard and dropped it near the crack from which the ants seemed to emerge. To them I think it must have smelled like Sexy Lady Ant, because they sure seemed excited. Within moments there were dozens of them doing the backflip into the goo, paddling around, and whipping each other with little towels. And then later, in their ant barracks, the toxins begin to take effect. "Hey, what's wrong with Lefty? Talk to me buddy." The whole team collapses in spasms of coughing, and soon enough they have pilfered their last grain of Splenda™ artificial sweetener.

But in death I suppose they look really terrific, having finally broken the cycle of glycemic addiction.