Today at work I was pulling up carpet in the house next to the house next door.
It wasn't normal household carpet, you know, the stuff that goes over foam stuff and is relatively easy to pull up because it's not attached to the floor. This was office carpet. Very thin, hard on the fingers, and glued to the floor.
This house is like a breeding ground for every insect you can imagine. Everywhere you look you can see spiderwebs built on top of delapitated spiderwebs. The spiders range from small to large to biggie size.
Each spiderweb has three or so "spider pods." I don't know what they are, they're little fuzzy balls suspended amidst the web, usually in clusters. These spider pods are actually a good defense mechanism against me, because I am unwilling to put any one of my body parts anywhere near these things.
Spiders aren't the only friends. Outside the door there used to be a very big bee's nest. It was one of those grey things, that seemed to grow in front of your very eyes. Chris and Greg fought them off several weeks ago. It was an epic struggle. Now all that remains are the rings of the nest's layers.
According to the guys who cleaned the gutters, the whole attic is infested with more of these same bees, flying out from every orifice if an unsuspecting person were to place even their toe near said orifice.
Then of course there are your standard household bugs.
So anyway, I was pulling up this carpet, and I discovered about a trillion little black ants were marching (black antannae waving, no doubt) around underneath the carpet in one of the rooms.
Lots and lots of little ants.
This talk of ants reminds of that book Jeeves in the Morning.
Editor's Note: The following was illegally hand-copied from Jeeves in the Morning. Read at your own risk.
Edwin was saying that they were members of the Hymenoptera family and self replying, "Well, well. Quite the nibs, eh?"
"They are characterized by unusual distinctions of three regions of the body-head, thorax, and abdomen-and by the stack or petiole of the abdomen moves very freely on the trunk of the thorax."
"You wouldn't fool me?
"The female, after laying her eggs, feeds the larvae with food regurgitated from her stomach."
"Try to keep it clean, my lad."
"Both males and females are winged."
"And why not?"
"But the female pulls off its wings and runs about without them."
"I question that. I doubt if even an ant would be such an ass."
"It's quite true. It says so in the book. Have you ever seen ants fight?"
"Not that I remember."
"They rise on their hind legs and curve the abdomen."
And, to my consternation and chagrin, whether because it was his intention to illustrate or because he found his squatting position cramping to the limbs, this was just what he did himself. He rose on his hind legs, and stood facing me, curving the abdomen-at the exact moment when I perceived Florence emerging from the house and walking briskly in our direction.
It was a crisis at which a less resourceful man might have supposed that all was lost. But the Woosters are quick thinkers.
"Hullo!" I said.
"What's the matter?"
"Have you dropped a sixpence?"
"No."
"Somebody has. Look."
"Where?"
"Under that bush," I said, and pointed to a shrub of sorts on the edge of the drive.
As you probably conjucture, in saying this I was descending to subterfuge, and anybody knowing Bertram Wooster and his rigid principles might have supposed that such wilful tampering with the truth would have caused the blush of shame to mantle his cheeck. Not so, however. If there was a flush to be noted, it was a flush of excitement and triumph.
For my subtle appeal to the young blister's cupidity had not failed to achieve its end. Already, he was down on all fours, and if I had posed him with my own hands I could not have obtained better results. His bulging shorts seemed to smile up at me in a sort of inviting, welcoming way.
As Jeeves had rightly said, there is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken by the flood, leads on to fortune. I drew back the leg, and let him have it just where the pants were tightest.
It was a superb effort. Considering that I hadn't kicked anyone since the distant days of school, you mighthave thought that the machinery would have got rusty. But no. All the old skill lingered. My timing was perfect, and so was my follow through. He disappeared into the bush, travelling as if out of a gun.