Flying ants are horrible and need to be stopped

I knew my run of unusual productivity would come to an end.

I’ve spent the day lounging around in bed watching Netflix and eating crisps and it was while I was sprawled out on top of my duvet that a thought occurred to me.

When is flying ant day?

Google didn’t give me a satisfactory answer so I decided to consult my friends.

 

It was a bit pointless to ask a Londoner, wasn’t it? I don’t think he’s ever even seen a sheep in real life.

I decided to ask my mother, the vast bastion of knowledge that she is:

“MUUUUUUUM! When’s flying ant day?”

“I don’t know but I don’t want a repeat of last year. We’re going to have to stay inside for the next two months and wait it out”

Understandable.

My mum has a huge fear of ants. We had a nest under our carpet one time and she refused to enter the living room for the next three months.

Unfortunately my mum appears to have transferred this phobia onto me and if I thought I was creeped out by normal crawling ants then that is nothing compared to the sheer terror it caused me when the fuckers started sprouting wings.

Picture the scene: It was a warm August evening and my mum had just returned from the shop with a bottle of gin: “I’m not pouring you one unless you come and sit in the garden with me!”

I don’t normally like venturing outside for extended periods of time because the wifi doesn’t reach that far but sod it, it’s a nice summery evening and I really wanted a gin and tonic.

Drinks in hand, we settled down at the table and it was all going swimmingly until this horrid beefy winged thing lands on my hand:

I did the mature thing and flailed around until it flew off. I was a bit creeped out at this point but again: sunshine, gin. I’m not going to let it bother me, I’m just gonna stay calm and enjoy this summer evening.

Until another one lands on my hand.

And then another one.

And then there are some on the table and OH GOD THERE IS A BIG BLACK CLOUD OF FLYING ANTS RISING FROM THE PATIO.

It was like a fucking Biblical plague. One moment there was calm and then the next there was a swarm of goddamn winged insects bearing down on us.

“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!”

“ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUCK THE LITTLE ANTY BASTARDS ARE EVERYWHERE”

It was carnage.

Glasses of gin went crashing to the floor, chairs were knocked over, shoes were discarded as we both sprinted towards the house. I was windmilling my arms around my head and my mum was emitting a scream at a pitch I didn’t even think was humanly possible.

I had a sudden moment of clarity and shouted to my mum “THE RABBITS!!”

“LEAVE THEM. THERE’S NO TIME”

We finally made it into the safety of the house and slammed the door shut behind us. There was a moment of silence as we both gazed at each other horror-stricken.The garden was still swarming with ants and even the fact that there was now glass between us wasn’t as reassuring as we’d hoped.

My mum left the room and returned with two sizable glasses of gin. We sipped them quietly until my mum finally broke the silence.

“… I think that’s enough outdoors for today”

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