Spray starch kills tiny red ants. Ask me how I know this.
I know this because husband picked up a bag of dog food tonight and noticed that the white cement basement shelf that it sat on was covered with swarming red ants.
"Oh, man", he said and marched upstairs with the bag of dog food in hand. Confident that my man was going to eradicate those little intruders I stepped into our basement office (also known as the everything they sell at Ikea room) and visited my favorite blogs for an hour (ok you know it was more than that).
When I was finished trolling the internet I got up, cracked my poor middle aged back and started to head up to sleep. When I happened to notice the shelf was still swarming with ants! And there was a tiny red ant sized hole in the basement wall they seemed to be going in and out of. Shudder.
Jesus on a cracker you don't leave that kind of imagery lying around for a woman like me to stumble upon. Now I'm convinced my interior walls are overrun with ants. He just out and out left all those crawlers on the shelf. Untouched! Bear in my mind, I come from a mother who insisted on vacuming in between the studs of her new home before they installed the drywall because she couldn't stand the thought of all the dirty trapped in there.
So I grabbed the closest can of spray (turned out to be spray starch) and nuked the suckers, several times. I figured it would dry and they would stiffen up and that's what happened. Tommorow I will yell, "Fire in the hole!" point a fresh can of Raid into the tiny hole in the wall and then block it up with the can of Stuff husband has hidden from me.
What saddens me tonight is that clearly the romance is gone from our marriage. Back when my husband and I were dating he knew I was losing sleep over the many many spiders that were invading my bedroom. He crawled under the house, a cramped disgusting crawl space that you couldn't sit upright in, to spread the now outlawed Diazinon all around the foundation under my room.
Isn't that that the damn sweetest thing you ever heard? I love a man who can handle a pesticide.