I decide to sit outside
this morning and finish a book I’ve been tearing through about George
Washington’s secret spy ring. The
weather is overcast, I have a fleece zipped up to my chin like Mort from
Bazooka Joe’s gang, and I am seriously considering grabbing a blanket from
inside the house.
Just as I am finishing the
book, the sun breaks out from the cloud cover, and the temperature soars about
twelve degrees. Perfect! I’m going to break in my new beach chair
right here on the patio. It’s a sand chair
that reclines completely so I can lie down on my back or my stomach with equal
comfort.
I change into shorts and a
bathing suit top, grab some new reading material (magazines), and head back
outside. I start on my stomach, giving
my back a nice roast. While trying to
get settled and read, ants start marching by, some carrying booty (dead moth,
another dead ant, etc.) and some just for the hell of it.
This one big-ass black ant
keeps getting too close to my magazine, so I flick him about three feet to the
right. He shakes that off, rights
himself, and marches straight back at me.
I flick him again, and he
sails to the left. He repeats his
recovery maneuver and then repeats his forward charge. Flick.
Charge. Flick! Charge!
FLICK!!! CHARGE!!!
At this point, I am
seriously considering whacking the little fucker with a flip flop, but I am too
lazy to actually sit up, lean back, and get the flip flop to use as a
weapon. I am honestly surprised that
after so many mega-flicks, the little bastard is still crawling around. He makes one last effort to enter my personal
space. The shadow of my fist tips him
off, and he scampers out of my reach and along the edge of the house
foundation.
By this time, thirty
minutes have passed and it’s time to turn over and roast the other side of my
body. Ten minutes later the sun goes
back in and the temperature drops a little bit.
Then the sun comes back out. Then
it goes back in. The sun and I play this
little game for about thirty more minutes, the sun mostly winning as it spends
more time behind gray-black rain clouds than it does in the occasional blue sky.
I think it’s the ant’s
fault. He must’ve tattled to Mother
Nature about what a big bully I am. I
don’t recall Mort being a bully in the Bazooka Joe bubble gum comics, so I put
my fleece back on and zip it back up high once more, but to no avail. The day has clouded over and rain is in the
forecast.
Thanks, ant. You might work all day long, but today is my
day off. Thanks for ruining it. Little fucker.
