Sunday, October 20, 2002
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Sunday, October 20, 2002 |
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Ants and baseball By MARY JANE
HOLT threw a tantrum. I don't know when I last threw a tantrum. I'm a pouter by nature, and it has actually been quite a long time since I pulled off a good pout. It's not that I'm above throwing a tantrum, it's just that tantrums are not my style. I don't intend to make them my style either, because I feel like an idiot this morning. I'm glad my husband is not here as I think this through. I have not decided if I'm going to apologize to him or not, although I know I do feel bad about my behavior. I do think that I need to talk to somebody about what I did and I have decided the somebody should be you. I figure you won't talk back to me until I get the whole story out on the table. The problem revolves around ants and baseball. I have had it with both this summer. Last night I lost control. Of course this requires a bit of background. Over the past two months I have found ants in two beds, two closets, around the fireplace, under the table (the one area that is understandable), in the bathtub, in the laundry, in the laundry baskets, in my kitchen pantry and just traveling down the hall like they own the place. I'm a decent housekeeper. But I'm not sure my housekeeping is the issue here. Dozens of people have told me about ant problems this year. We have sprayed repeatedly. We have brought in a professional. Then last night I found ants yet again. On my kitchen pantry floor. I think I muttered something that was not nice. I think I said it a bit loudly. Daniel, who was watching a baseball game, asked from the living room what was wrong. I told him. He asked if I needed him. Now think about that one with me. I'd found ants again. He knew about the repeated battles I've had with ants. He, too has found them, repeatedly and sprayed and sprayed.He knows I'm at my wit's end in dealing with them. He asked if I needed him. From the living room. While watching the ball game. Now, there is, of course a wee bit more to the story. It's hunting season. He went hunting Friday afternoon, Saturday morning and Saturday evening. Late Saturday, he said Sunday was mine, that we would do anything I wanted to do. After church, we went to the Bulloch House in Warm Springs for lunch before we returned home. Then he took an afternoon nap. Later he went for a walk in the woods. After darkness set in he settled down into his favorite chair and turned on a baseball game. The only thing besides ants that I am more fed up with is baseball. Oh, don't get me wrong, the game's okay. The actual game is really not bad at all. I once enjoyed watching it. What riles me is that some individual claims to own the team that plays the game. Of course he pays well those people he owns until he drops them or trades them. Many are paid really well, in fact. And that's the other thing that riles me. I figure if every baseball player took a fifty to seventy-five percent pay cut and that money was divided among our public safety professionals, then the world, and the game, might make a little more sense. To make matters worse, the players threatened their public with yet another strike this year. I have not watched baseball since the last strike and I don't intend to watch it again. Now I have set the stage for you. For my tantrum, that is. Ants and baseball had taken their toll. Enough was enough. What would you do if your husband waited until the station break to come to your aid and actually look to see what he could do to address your latest ant attack? A station break that had to occur during a ball game he was watching on a day that he had said was yours. Thanks for reading. You are always a big help. I'm not sure there is greater therapy than writing. There is something about putting everything on paper that brings a whole other perspective to any situation. I can hardly believe I was thinking about apologizing.
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