The sandbox is up and running. Just when I feel like I've accomplished something of value, a giant pile of shit drops dead center. The gnarly toothed landscaper that dug out the area for the aforementioned item told my mother yesterday that there are ants in the stump where I cut the tree down. That's right where the yard and a half of fresh sand is. Thanks, jackass.
I just don't notice that stuff. Yeah, I see the ants. I just didn't know they were going to make my backyard their Babylon. If there's one thing I hate it's lawncare and pesticides and chemicals. I have a 'managed' weed patch.
Fuck weed killer and fertilizer. I let the annoying Dandelions bloom defiantly in the sun. Last year I had the sleepy creepy Earwigs at the doorstep lounging in the woodchips and milkweed and this year it's a Vegas sized ant farm.
I went to the overpriced hardware store this afternoon(support the local fuckwads and all) and bought some spray that hooks up to a garden hose. Ortho Max says it kills all kinds of common pests in your garden and lawn.
$30 frickin' bucks later as I peel back the label it says it kills fleas, ticks and foraging fire ants IN THE LAWN. No mention of the typical bastard black ant. I hooked it up and sprayed away. Would Snowflake listen and stay off the grass?
"Fine! Run through the grass. I could care less if you sprout a few new testicles!"
I swear I love him as much as those damn ants sometimes. He is so much like me and at three he is just as stubborn as Yosemite Sam. I cherish this characteristic and loathe it. My blood boils. I do not want a Super Brat. I don't want to be a Super Bitch to him either.
I don't want him to grow up and be just another ant like me. I don't like ants.