A reader called this post from 2014 to my attention…it’s even more applicable today than it was four years ago. And join the conversation.
A scream, like only a teenaged girl can vocalize, sliced the stillness of the afternoon. I raced toward the bedroom where her petulant voice echoed, “MO—THER!”
Daughter stood in the doorway of her closet swatting, scratching, and stripping off clothes. “Ants!” she shouted and smacked her
hands up and down her face, neck, and body. “Everywhere. In my closet. In my clothes. Do something!”
“The kitchen, under the sink.” I motioned to the horrified girlfriend plastered against the opposite wall, “Get my rubber gloves and a plastic bag.”
I opened the plastic bag she offered at arms-length and stuffed shoes, socks, shirts, and an assortment of objects attempting to find out where the nasty creatures were coming from. And then, there it was. Laying on the bottom of her junky closet floor, underneath a hubble of rubble—HER GYM BAG.
“But Mom—” Her face colored sorry.
I glared first at her…
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MOVING THE ANCIENT BOUNDARIES 