The ants have taken over my kitchen. Apparently, they were not satisfied with the dumpster full of festering foodstuffs in the Safeway lot next door and have come looking for more gourmet victuals.
As an experiment, I’ve poured some 2004 Parducci Petite Sirah around the source of the largest trail, hoping that either the ants will flee from the smell or drink themselves to death.
So far, they’re mostly just poking at the blood-red pool of Petite. Maybe the little buggers prefer higher-end wine. Can’t say I blame them.
I hear the Pink Panther approaching — deadant, deadant . . .
I made the same bad joke as I tried to smoosh hundreds of them. It would have been funnier had they not been trying to climb up my arms.