The Insect Revolution

Okay, so apart from the fact that I seem to have psychiatric problems, I also have a few other annoyances.
For instance: my house seems to dirty itself frequently and without warning.

Dust bunnies stream in from all four corners of the earth, calling up their local friends for a rendezvous at my place, so they can drink and multiply.

A while ago I decided to hire a cleaning lady who works at my sister's twice a week.
She seemed so totally awesome that I didn't even do an interview; I immediately hired her and organised her entry-card into my extremely secure, security complex.

If you don't have a card you can't gain entrance without first supplying the following: ID, passport, both your own and your parents' birth-certificates, a blood sample, a urine sample, a stool sample and some bone-marrow DNA.
You then sell your soul temporarily to the gatekeepers, which they will return to you, in reasonable condition, once you leave the complex, with the exception that you don't mysteriously acquire a flat screen TV in the time you visited.

Anyway, it seems like this cleaning lady and I had a slight miscommunication because she actually graduated with a masters' degree in professional egg-eating and not so much in house-cleaning.

So, after I was sadly retrenched from my job I spent way too much time sitting at home, whimpering into bags of O-Grady's.

And then the strangest thing happened.

The pristine veil of ignorance lifted from my eyes and I started noticing brown markings everywhere.
Like hieroglyphics only annoying and not interesting at all.
I'd swipe lazily at a smudge on the wall, stupidly causing a clean spot.
Then I'd have to either wash or repaint the entire thing for it to be an even colour.

I then noticed that the furniture, the ceiling, the light-fixtures, the carpets, the kitchen (yargh!), the garden and the pets were all horribly grimy.
I optimistically started scrubbing away with boiling hot, Handy Andy water and goldilocks.
It hurt to do this to the cats and once I've lost about a draught of blood, I gave up on them.

After a week of losing my mind more and more in this cleaning business (unpaid labour, I'll have you know) my house started looking marginally better.
But I've discovered loads of ants and miscellaneous other creatures living here, rent-free.

I methodically proceeded whiping them out with the help of "Diebug, Die, Die!" products.
Which was good, because my husband later confessed to me that he was getting a little bit tired of boiled-ant flavoured coffee.

I started growing a dark little moustache and cut my hair into an Austrian pot-cut.
I coloured it black...
The ants started referring to me as Hitler...
The Hitler of Ants...

I then went on to conquer the Black Widows in my garage.
My husband is terrified of spiders and in this case I had sympathy, since black widows aren't known to ask questions before they sink their teeth into a person.
I bug-bombed the hell out of them...

And was wracked with guilt when I went back into the garage and found the corpses of countless daddy-longlegs strewn across the garage-floor in mid-crawl.
An expression of disgust permanently frozen in their many, (so many) eyes.
The stuff must have smelt nasty because they all had that scrunched-up, I-detect-a-fart look on their faces.
I think that was their faces...

The mommy black widow was hanging upside down in her web, her alien-like eggs looking forlorn and orphaned in the corner of the ceiling.
I better still kill the little brats, before they hatch and snack on my family.

Word around town was that my new nickname was "The Antibug", since the "Hitler of Ants" no longer applied.

I wouldn't be surprised to see a little plaque erected in the corner of the garage, reading: "Here died the Widow of Falcon Crest 1. May she finally be at peace."

Other spiders would pay a small entrance fee to come and see the museum where The Great Fogger Massacre of 2010 occurred. If the people from Baygon are to be believed, these spiders too shall then die, because of the fine residue the Fogger is supposed to leave.

OH, the shame!

Anywho, I then went on to purchase something called "DYNEST" which is rumoured to cling to unsuspecting insects, which they then transport back to their nests, slaughtering every woman and child in the place.
I also sprayed something named "Wundergarten" on my half-dead Clivias, cutting down the pretty, but irritatingly hungry, caterpillars that recently moved in.

By this time I had lost my conscience completely and one of the more well-read caterpillars diagnosed me "A Sociopath".
Kind of like Dexter...but with bugs.

I started periodically checking my cats' and husband's pulses when they slept to be sure I haven't killed them as well.
I developed slight asthma from inhaling too many poisons of various natures.
The combination must have formed rudimentary LSD at some point because I distinctly remember seeing things in the garden that weren't supposed to be there.
Healthy Clivias, for instance.

The amazing egg-eating lady from Azkamamelodi had fled by now, never to return.
I suspect she saw something scary in my eyes.
"That wena, she had the eyes of the Tokolosh", she might later relay impressively to her friends.

I now sleep with a can of "Doom: The Odourless Killer" under my pillow, for fear of the insect-revolution.

And when they come...I'll be ready.