One day, earlier this summer, I picked up my mail from the super mailbox down the street. When I plucked the mail from the slot, here were a couple of black ants racing across the envelopes and flyers. Odd. I shook them off then peered inside. The slot was crawling with ants! And what were those little, rice-like parcels they were carrying? Eggs. Piles and piles of eggs. What was the attraction of the metal structure? Weren't ants supposed to live in the ground? After a serious case of the heebie-jeebies, I set out to fight the invaders.
First stop, the post office where I discovered someone else had already complained about the ants. That one slot had been sprayed, but the rest of us were left without any defenses. The thought of having to retrieve any more ant and egg-covered mail was, for me, the stuff of nightmares. What if those eggs hatched during the night? So I bought a can of Raid, and sprayed the suckers. I realized I was being terribly hypocritical. Wasn't I supposed to love all creatures? But you have to understand -- I was completely grossed out. I also posted a sign advising my neighbours of the problem just in case the ants decided to move to a new 'condo'.
That was far too much excitement for one day. I just couldn't bring myself to clean the lifeless bodies and eggs from the mail slot, so I sent my husband down later that evening. I think that's why we get married, isn't it? To share the load. I do the laundry, and he cleans up the dead bodies. A match made in heaven.