Its quite the norm that wives don't like what the husbands like. Its also norm-ish that wives hate those who like what the husbands also like. It's hence only possible that my wife doesnt like ants, one bit. I love sweets. Ants love sweets and she hates both of us and that fact that I sometimes benevolently share some of my sweet crumbs in the little town square (or in our world - small vitrified tile) of the ant colony that has been quietly building up in our current home.
These ants, however are quite unwieldy in the manner they are going about building their lives around us (or rather about adjusting their urges while we are living amidst them). There is this washing machine drain outlet which seems to froth a load of fly ants every week and they all come out spreading through the rooms like "the irritating dog lifting the trunk" stickers that you see in the city's small cars.
For temporary reprieve, we buy mortein ant sprays with the pointy spray hose which leaks in a way that soils your fingers. Some finer aspects like me rubbing those fingers against my wife's soap to kill the smell, dont deserve a mention here. This blog doesnt carry that class. But it does make sense not to reveal much in a way to damage our congenial-ish relationship at home ( of which I am the only contributor).
In the first few days of our (now almost 3000 years old, it feels like) marriage, she fought with me (with tears, hands thumping carefully against soft bed) for the fact that the ants are raiding our kitchen. Given such troubled adolescence in the life of our marriage, nowadays I dont get into controversial positions like "Veeduna Erumbu Laam Iruka thaan seyyum" ("If there is house, there would be ants"). Its a mystery however why ants are so prevalent in Indian homes and we dont find them anywhere else in the (developed) world.
Nowadays I just play along cursing the ants, architecture, hygiene conditions and all in between in a carefully coordinated chorus, when my wife does the prima donna singing a string of abuses against the ants. I however havent still come to terms with her merciless punching of ants with thumb. Apart from being cruel, I know that the same thumb goes into her mouth while she tries to pull the imaginary peeled skin (a habit that's as disgusting as sweaty cricketers hugging each other after a match win).
Now that our daugther has become more active with her crawling behind anything moving (including ants), I wont be surprised if my wife ups the ante by inventing a birth control sweet crumb for ants.
These ants, however are quite unwieldy in the manner they are going about building their lives around us (or rather about adjusting their urges while we are living amidst them). There is this washing machine drain outlet which seems to froth a load of fly ants every week and they all come out spreading through the rooms like "the irritating dog lifting the trunk" stickers that you see in the city's small cars.
For temporary reprieve, we buy mortein ant sprays with the pointy spray hose which leaks in a way that soils your fingers. Some finer aspects like me rubbing those fingers against my wife's soap to kill the smell, dont deserve a mention here. This blog doesnt carry that class. But it does make sense not to reveal much in a way to damage our congenial-ish relationship at home ( of which I am the only contributor).
In the first few days of our (now almost 3000 years old, it feels like) marriage, she fought with me (with tears, hands thumping carefully against soft bed) for the fact that the ants are raiding our kitchen. Given such troubled adolescence in the life of our marriage, nowadays I dont get into controversial positions like "Veeduna Erumbu Laam Iruka thaan seyyum" ("If there is house, there would be ants"). Its a mystery however why ants are so prevalent in Indian homes and we dont find them anywhere else in the (developed) world.
Nowadays I just play along cursing the ants, architecture, hygiene conditions and all in between in a carefully coordinated chorus, when my wife does the prima donna singing a string of abuses against the ants. I however havent still come to terms with her merciless punching of ants with thumb. Apart from being cruel, I know that the same thumb goes into her mouth while she tries to pull the imaginary peeled skin (a habit that's as disgusting as sweaty cricketers hugging each other after a match win).
Now that our daugther has become more active with her crawling behind anything moving (including ants), I wont be surprised if my wife ups the ante by inventing a birth control sweet crumb for ants.
