Sometimes it's just easier to do the killing yourself.

Every year we get ants. Little ants. Lots of them. And they travel up through the earth and onto my kitchen counter and it is gross. And every morning there are two or three ants zipping around my counter waiting for me to smush them. Which I do. But then their buddies come back to search for the missing bodies. And I have to smush them. As you can see, it's a violent cycle.

So every year I buy ant poison. The liquid kind that looks like Karo Syrup. And I put dollops on tore up pieces of wax paper and hide them from the baby place them strategically around the kitchen. And then I also buy these Kill Sticks that you put in your garden or, if you're like me, in the area around your home where you might have a garden if you knew how to grow things.

And in a couple days the ants disappear.

At least that's the way it works when I handle things.

Except I was busy watching a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon exhausted after a hard day of work and sent Big V to the store instead. I handed him twenty dollars and said, "Please purchase the Kill Sticks and the Karo Syrup Poison and all will be well."

Except all is not well. Because he returned all giddy and proud after making an executive decision, deciding to purchase some super-duper ant trap instead. "This was the most expensive thing they had so it's got to work!" There is so much to teach him.

Three days later and I had twelve ants greeting me in the morning and the recovery squad showed up wearing berets.

I decided enough is enough. It was time to take matters into my own hands and buy the stuff I know actually works.

But then I had to watch the last episode of Real Housewives of Orange County research bone marrow donation last night and wasn't able to get to the store.

This morning I woke up and went into the kitchen. The moment I laid eyes on the bowl I knew there would be trouble....

.... and then I called Big V who was already at work:

Hey. Um. Did you happen to have ice cream last night?

Uh..... maybe.  (It's like he doesn't trust me.)

Did you, um, happen to leave the bowl full of sweet, sticky ice cream residue on the counter?

Uh..... maybe.  (It's like he knows I'm on to him.)

Did you happen to leave it on the counter where we have the ant problem?

Uh..... maybe.  (It's like he knows I already know the answer.)

Don't worry; I took the bowl over to the sink and commenced drowning the thousand ants that were feasting on your leftovers. I don't think they suffered. They were in a sugar coma and had no idea what was happening."

Uh..... thanks?  (It's like he doesn't appreciate my sarcasm.)