6

The number is 6.

6: the number of gnats resting (and puking and pooping and sneezing and farting and eating and fornicating no doubt) on my toothbrush this morning

6: the number of cans of Raid that have been discharged in my kitchen in just the last month

6: the number of houses for sale that I gazed sadly at today thinking, "they probably don't have gnats in there"

6: the current number of ways I can think of to kill myself if this bug situation does not reach a speedy resolution

The post below was supposed to have been posted May 17. You'll notice that it is now June 7 and I'll have you know. . . the situation has grown even more dire. Imagine, for a moment, that it is mid-May and unusually cool in Saint Louis.

Gnats 2.0

Seriously?!

Seriously.

Not only have they returned, but I'm not entirely sure they ever left.

It is only May. 4 long, hot months are staring back at me. Laughing. Knowing that they've already won and that I will resign myself, once again, to living in a gnat infested house.

We've added a dog and a 12 year old since the last round. Maybe we are ready for a more brutal fight now.

Or maybe I'm even more exhausted and will give up before the fight even starts.

It remains to be seen.


Now.

Imagine that it is June and the temperature threatens to reach 100 degrees before summer even officially begins. Think about the sweat that pools in every crease and crevice of your body (I'll spare you the gruesome details). It's hot. Like, really hot.

Imagine that there is a swarm of gnats not only near the garbage can or fruit (which is, of course, no longer kept on the counter. We've even eliminated the counter-kept bananas from our diet, resulting in dangerously low levels of potassium and a pervasive crankiness) but in the shower, at the kitchen table, and even, sadly, in your bedroom.

Imagine now that you have just cracked open yet another can of Raid and hosed down the kitchen and you are wondering just how serious they are about this being bad for animals and small humans.

Imagine that you have embraced serenity to such an extent that you sigh and call the exterminator AGAIN without even considering putting your head in the oven or changing zip codes.

If you made it through that last bit you are a far more evolved human than I.

We've called the exterminator. We've sprayed every inch of the house with a potpourri of chemicals. I've filled tiny dishes with vinegar, poured ammonia down the drains, stopped eating bananas, scoured every surface.

I'm exhausted.

I've even tried to accept the little f*$@ers and come to some peace with their presence.

I've tried. I really have. But no.

Things have gotten worse.

At the risk of sounding a bit whiny or (gasp) self-centered and pitiful, I'd like to introduce you to my new friend.



Yep. We've added a brown recluse invasion to the wonders of our home. Thus far we've killed two in the hallway, one in Jordan's room, one in the bathroom, one in the kitchen, and one in the bedroom shortly after it dismounted my leg.

Yes. My LEG!! Because I apparently was not having enough trouble with the gnats and the heat. I also had to be assaulted - ok fine, threatened - by a poisonous spider. In my bed.

No, it didn't bite me. Yes, I'm fine albeit a bit dramatic.

I will typically carry my burdens with a smile. I will be that enlightened individual who sighs, breathes, and picks up the phone, nonplussed. I might even chuckle.

Most days.

But that spider scurrying up my leg was my complete and total undoing. I cracked. I sobbed. Not because I was afraid of the spider (puhleeze) but because it was suddenly all just too much.

And so I whined and whimpered and cried.

And now I rant.

And hope for your sympathy and pest control tips.

So what shall I do?

Evacuate? Bomb it? Do a special chant/dance combo at midnight under a full moon? sacrifice one of the children?

I'm open to suggestions. However outlandish. Because, seriously, something's gotta give.

P.S. Please don't call DFS . . . I promise that it is an otherwise lovely, healthy home.