All my longtime readers know I pretty much married a saint. Blair is calm, kind, patient and just a very stable presence in an otherwise topsy-turvy world. Nothing gets to him. Except...
ANTS. Ants are Blair's Achilles heel. I never would have known this except I wandered into the kitchen one early morning last week to find my ever patient, non-cursing husband standing by the coffee pot killing ants between his fingers as he unleashed a barrage of expletives at them.
In all fairness, we have been battling ants for almost two months now. I don't know what the deal is this season, but they've shown up in our kitchen and master bath. We have scrubbed, sprayed, tried natural remedies (set out cornmeal for them to eat as it expands in their stomachs and kills the little bastards), and I don't know what all. Things will be fine for a week or two and then wham! More ants.
This may just be what causes Blair to finally lose it. He HATES ants. I can't emphasize this point enough. He hates them. He'd probably be happier if we had an infestation of spiders. (Note: I WOULD NOT BE HAPPIER WITH THE SPIDERS).
So I'm going to spend some time today trying to kill some ants. It's the least I can do for Blair, after everything he does for me.