The Termites March at Noon
Well, friends, it hasn’t been the greatest week here at Chez Ruth. Thus far, we’ve suffered injury, famine (okay, maybe it wasn’t so much ‘famine’ as it was an extreme lack of motivation to go to the grocery store), and now pestilence. Pestilence, people!!!
Picture it, Wednesday, late morning – a lovely *cough* young *cough* *cough* mother of one has finally gotten said one down for a nap. She settles in with a delicious Trader Joe’s noodle bowl and begins planning a day full of fun and excitement (read: a trip to the zoo) for her son and some friends. Oh yes, it will be perfect, a sunny day outdoors with a little boy in a stroller who growls at every animal he sees.
What does the elephant say?
With the noodle bowl eaten and the zoo plan set in motion, our heroine *cough* heads to the living room to fold a little laundry and get ready for her afternoon out. This, my friends, is when tragedy strikes.
It is noon.
The termites march at noon.
The living room floor is covered with nasty little winged creatures the likes of which our leading lady has never seen. Not wanting to waste a perfectly good noodle bowl, she fights the urge to vomit and arms herself with a roll of paper towels and a Dustbuster. The fight is on.
Armed with suction and…squashtion she meets the foe head on. And, in true mom form, she multi-tasks gracefully – canceling the day’s plans, summoning her husband home from work, and calling for exterminator recommendations from friends and neighbors. After a grueling 25 minutes, the foe seems to have been reasonably vanquished. A few stragglers make their way in, only to meet the Cyclonic Hand Vac of Death.
With the battle won, but the war still raging in the walls of her house, Wonder Mom steels herself to face yet another plague set upon the earth – salespeople. Armed with her ‘don’t get screwed’ attitude she faces the newest enemy head on when informed of the pest activity in her house and the unbelievably, omg, seriously how could anything possibly cost this much, you’ve got to be freaking kidding me, I think I’m having a heart attack cost of ridding her home of the wood chomping little bastards.
Realizing that she has been bested due to her lack of knowledge of pest control and her rabid desire to rid her house of any and all creepy crawly nastiness (and because she really can’t stand to hear one more freaking story about bugs, rodents, or any other disgusting thing this dude has experienced in his time as an exterminator), she agrees to the ludicrous demands of the Bug Guy.
And so, our mother extraordinaire has averted disaster once again…and all while recovering from a fall down the basement stairs just days earlier.
All in a day’s work, friends…all in a day’s work.