There are ants in my

I live in a trailer. Have I made that sufficiently clear? In Hawaii. A trailer - quite old. In Hawaii. (i.e. warm, low to ground, well-ventilated, not the most ship-shape). I have a bit of a pest problem. It's okay for the most part. The cockroaches and I have come to an understanding that if I don't see them, they don't exist. That's going well for us. The spiders are okay. They deal with the flies. Good. But the ants? They just came from nowhere - only to arrive somewhere in particular. In my pant...ies. They have invaded my underwear basket. The clean underwear basket. Not the dirty clothes basket. Or the bikinis/socks basket. Or even the fruit basket - where I have come to expect such things. Nope. They went straight for the underwear one. Theirs is a higher purpose. Apparently to make me act like a spaz.

Maybe I should start storing my underwear in the refrigerator. So far it's the only area that has managed to dodge the rampant pestilence of this place.

...brrr.

Having ants in one's panties adds a whole new color to the old phrase, don't you think? Perhaps it will see a revival.

Family Portrait

Eddie was not at all obliging. But I tried.

It proved difficult to manage, with one arm, a squirming 56lb goatlet who kept trying to go after the camera in the other. Oh, Eddie.