The Ants Go Marching...

I am learning about binary code. You know, 1001 is 9. And one of those is binary, and the other is Base 10, but I can't remember which is which.

Ok, maybe the rest of the world has known about binary for awhile, but so fucking what? It's math and...well, I have an aversion to the logic behind one plus one equaling two. Seems like a good place to hide a lie to me.

I like WORDS. I hate NUMBERS. If I was Milo, I would go through the Phantom Tollbooth as Mr. Juster indicates I should, and then, when I got to Digitopolis, I would hang a sharp left and drive my nifty little car into the margins of the page and head for the hills of Dictionopolis.

I mean, for chissake, in Digitopolis, you might go to dinner expecting portions to multiply in front of you and, instead, you get served division soup. By dessert, you need the extra calories because your weight has just divided itself in half for the gazillionth time, and you are sliced as thin as (gasp!)...Vicky, don't say it!, LINDA WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!!...The Bodies (GASP!!!!)

How is that a good thing?

Needless to say, if I was Milo, the Princesses of Rhyme and Reason would never have gotten saved...

The Phantom Tollbooth is one of my favorite published works of children's fiction. It isn't my favorite book, though. That would be a book few have read (6 total), The Caterpillar Had A Bad Day, by Amy Peterson. This book is what one would refer to as a "quick read."

The Caterpillar Had A Bad Day, by Amy Peterson

(Page One) The caterpillar had a bad day. (Page Two) He got stepped on. (Page Three) The End.

With illustrations. Did I not say quick read? LOL!!

It is spring. You know how I know? Yes, the heralds have arrived. Primroses, daffy-down-dillies, crocuses. Cherry blossoms, apple blossoms, and robin redbreast everywhere! But that isn't how I know it is spring.

I know it is spring because the ants have arrived. Ah, there are the TRUE heralds of spring, at least in the state of Wash=rustington. The ants have sent out The Scouts.

If you are new to Washington, you may not be familiar with this seasonal phenomenom. In the spring, as the grounds thaw and the rain falls in a steady drizzle 24x7, the Mother Ant tells her boys, "I'm hungry, dammit! Holding up these frikkin' big wings is tiring! Go fetch me some vittals!" And those dutiful daredevils traipse up through the rotting firewood, find the eensiest, teensiest crack in the foundations of both .5 million dollar homes and 1.5 million dollar homes (ants are not capitalistic snobs, after all) and pester the living shit out of insect-o-phobics. Like me.

Day one of spring, there is one ant. He crawls along the edge of the bathtub thinking I won't notice his jet-blank antsy ass scurrying along on the edge of my cream-colored bathtub. I do. And suddenly, Scout One is having a day every bit as bad as The Caterpillar's.

And right there, I've made my mistake in this strategic War Upon Ants. But I don't realize the error for quite some time, three years, to be exact. Three fucking springs with the fucking little creepy-crawlie motherfuckers.

(Do YOU know my mistake?)

To synopse, Day One, One Scout.

To continue. Day Two, Two Scouts. On the edge of the bathroom counter. I sigh. I squish.

Day Three - Four scouts have appeared. They seem to think they can outsmart me by splitting into two parties and circling around behind me. But, I am good. I have been spotting insects since I was knee-high (dare I say it?) to a grasshopper. I stretch my left arm, I stretch my right arm, I try to make it look like just an innocent morning stretch, and I squish both regiments in a fraction of a millasecond without firing a single shot.

Day Four - Sonofagoddamnbitch! Eight goddamn, motherfucking sonsofbitches ants. EIGHT!! God, I hate ants. I HATE them. I want to SQUISHx8.

And then I realize - the damn ants are freakin' BINARY! DO YOU SEE THAT???? There was one ant, then two, then four, then eight!!!! And one plus two plus four plus eight is, of course, fifteen!!! Which, of course, is written in binary as 1111!!! without the exclamation points, of course :-)

(See why Milo should have avoided Digitopolis?)

I am so amazed that, in spite of my hatred for this eusocial insect, I spare their lives. I determine that, in order to prove my theory, I need another day's worth of evidence. Yes. Tomorrow, I think to myself, there will be sixteen of them.

And there, I do something I've never done before. I let the eight go.

And, just like that, they are gone. On Day Five, I get up, walk into the bathroom, flip on the light, and look all around me, around my feet, above my head, under the bathroom rug, I check the vent, I check the shower curtain, I check every single corner, all along the caulking, I check everyfreakinwhere an ant would go.

And they are not there! They are not fucking there...