Maybe I should leave a couple of dead ones here. Just as an example. In case any others decide to return. I want them to know I mean business.

He stared at me, this assertion of my killing capacity was somewhat out of character.

What? I hate ants. I want them all dead.

And with that I returned to my task of mopping up, scraping up, digging out, squishing, any and all ants that remained.

I had been talking on the phone with my ex-husband when I made the discovery. He was asking me about my new apartment; I was extolling the virtues of it when I opened the refrigerator door to get a glass of water. There, a black ribbon undulating up and down, was a line of ants crawling on the door. Not in the refrigerator, merely where the door frame met the gasket. I slammed the door, trying not to drop the phone. I opened the freezer compartment. I don’t know why, but I did. And was met with mounds and mounds of freeze dried ants.

How did this happen?

As calmly as I could, I ended our phone call. I didn’t tell him about my discovery.

I immediately called Daniel, already on his way over. In mild hysteria, I told him, I am staring at millions of ants. They are all over my refrigerator. Get something!

Somewhat perplexed, he said, “What? What exactly do you want me to do?”

I want you to stop at the store and buy something that will kill them. All of them. Raid, Black Flag, anything, just get it quick!

I stared at the ants. I watched them crawling, up and down, in an almost perfect line. I felt my skin crawling. My scalp felt as though tiny feet were irritatingly massaging it. I itched. I scratched. I shuddered. I couldn’t just stand by and watch. I grabbed a paper towel and started squishing. I shouldn’t have.

For where they once were in a contained area, marching up and down the pristine, just plugged in, brand new white Frigidaire, they now scattered. Random patterns of travel over the sides of the refrigerator. Scurrying down to the white and black marbled floor, disappearing into the nondescript design. I stood there, paralyzed, not sure of my next action.

Half an hour later I buzzed him in. I grabbed the white plastic grocery bag from his hand. What’s this? How am I supposed to kill ants with this? I asked as I handled the “ant motel,” a small plastic house for wayward ants. Do you see what I’m up against? Oh, this just will not do! I had been transformed into a mad woman. I grabbed my keys, threw on a jacket, and proclaimed my intention to find a powerful toxin to kill, kill, kill the creatures which had invaded my new home.

He, still perplexed, followed behind me. Twenty minutes later we returned, I with can of poisonous spray in my hand. I, who uses vinegar and water to mop the floors. I, who uses baking soda to scrub the sink. I, who avoids newly painted rooms because of the fumes. Yes, this same I began spraying with a vengeance. I wanted them all dead immediately. I couldn’t figure out how they got there. Why they chose my kitchen to attack. I had just moved in the night before. I didn’t invite them. I have no food out in my apartment. In the refrigerator I have bottles of water and a small leftover container of Chinese noodles. But the ants didn’t seem to be interested in the little food that was in the refrigerator. They were crawling, seemingly to the freezer compartment, to die, frozen instantly as they became trapped.

As the crawling ceased I calmed. I began the unpleasant task of cleaning up the thousands of shriveled, lifeless drowned forms. We searched for anything they might have been after. A forgotten sweet? Refuge from the dampness outside? It was bizarre. There was no trail from anywhere. The ants seemed to have spontaneously appeared, either in the freezer or on the refrigerator, crawling around it, but never leaving.

Before leaving for work this morning I considered checking, just to make sure they hadn’t come back. Then I realized I didn’t want to know. They may be there, waiting for me, when I return home. But now I’m prepared.