Fun with fire ants

Another reason to hate Florida: Fire ants! Just when I thought I could put up with the heat and humidity and Gov. Rick Scott, one million of these little bastards decided it was time to teach me a valuable lesson.

Lesson one: Don’t live in Florida. Lesson two: if you do live in Florida, don’t walk your dog at night past a vacant lot filled with interesting sand structures. Because when the dog stops to take a leak, fire ants will swarm your sandaled feet like little knife-carrying berserkers.

They move quicker than you’d think. One second I’m trying to make out constellations in the hazy sky of Jacksonville; the next second I’m hopping around with my feet on fire. Holy shit! These little assholes are well-named. I got out of there pronto, but the damage was done.

That was three days ago. The last couple of nights I haven’t slept too well because of the pain and itching. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but the welts still look like small-caliber gunshot wounds.

Live and learn. Next time I take a walk, I’ll be watching the ground. Next time I get near anything that looks like an fire-anthill, I’ll have a HAZMAT suit and a flamethrower.