The upstairs bathroom at Matt’s house has ants. They’ve been taking over for a while now…slowly appearing in the summer and crawling most disgustingly on the counter, the shower curtain and on the floor. I’ve killed quite a few of them.
The boy’s bathroom gets pretty disgusting. And by pretty disgusting- I meant super gross, don’t-want-to-touch-anything yucky. I guess that is to be expected when it gets cleaned twice a year and three guys who leave gross little shaved facial hairs everywhere and apparently aren’t afraid to live in their own filth don’t mind.
I have a confession.
Last night I saw the ants crawling near my toothbrush. Yup. I had a fleeting feeling of disgust. Then I smushed a few with my finger.
And then my grossed-outness feeling passed.
Yup. It passed.
Cait: “Matt, the ants are crawling near my toothbrush again.”
Matt: (still wearing his medal for being the only one to clean the bathroom since September) “WHAT? I cleaned the bathroom two weeks ago- they’re back?!”
Cait: (thinks briefly that Matt has a decreasing IQ for thinking that it’s acceptable to clean a bathroom once in three months) “yup- they’re back. “
End of conversation.
I’m not sure if I should pat myself on the back for being so apathetic and laid-back about the ants (and maybe for not just biting the bullet and cleaning their damn bathroom myself) or to give myself a swift kick in the ass.
I solved the problem by telling myself that I’ve never ACTUALLY seen them crawl on my toothbrush.
The way I see it, it’s only a matter of time.
Don’t judge too much, ok?