None of This is Exaggeration

My morning was not off to a fantastic start. I didn’t get a great night’s sleep in the guest room where I was relegated because Beau took Nyquil and was snoring in a way that proved it. I had to wake up earlier than usual to get to my first HR class and overslept by 10 crucial minutes. My entire morning routine was rushed as a result. I shook my face moisturizer without checking the lid and an arc of lotion sprayed across the carpet, furniture and walls. Finally, I sat down to eat my breakfast in begrudging silence and roll my eyes continuously at the sportscast that came on thanks to my altered schedule instead of my usual morning news. Shortly after I finished my cereal, something walked out from under the red Man Chair in the corner, casually walked across the floor and entered the gloom under the TV console.

No, I don’t have mice again. The something appeared to be an ant, roughly 2 inches long, of the variety one sees on documentaries about the Amazon, carrying entire sparrows into its den. My shock wore off after I lost sight and I immediately started shrieking to Beau. He appeared (after an inexcusable pause, mind you) and stood halfway down the stairs looking at me calmly with shaving cream all over his face. It’s as if he’s getting used to me and my early-morning blood-curdling screams. Actually, he was entirely too nonchalant about the situation.

From where I stood across the room, I explained that an Ant of Epic Proportions had infiltrated our home and was now camping out under the TV stand. Beau ever-so-coolly stood there in his boxers and informed me that he “couldn’t do anything about it at this moment” before heading upstairs. Within a second, I had leapt off the sofa and was tailgating him to the second floor. I sure as shit wasn’t staying downstairs with that thing.

Teary eyed and verging on hysteria, I begged Beau to fumigate its lair in hopes of killing it or at least scaring it out. I really ought to buy a can of Raid. The number of times I’ve hairsprayed or Febreezed an insect to death is just obscene. While I did my hair (pausing occasionally to blow dry the doorway to protect against sneak attacks), Beau followed orders with household sprays of mass destruction. The ant didn’t come out but if it shits out a sparrow down there, I’m confident the scent will be masked by half a bottle of Glade.