I’m going to come right out and say it: I HATE ANTS.
I don’t want to hear about how amazing they are; how incredible their communities can be; how fascinating their food finding skills are. I don’t want to hear about how your best-friend’s cousin is married to an ant and that some of them are quite lovely when you get to know them or how an ant saved your grandfather’s life one night.
I hate them. This will always be true. I think I may even have a bit of PTSD about them. When I see them in my house, I panic. I can’t rest until they are gone. Even when they are gone, I imagine them everywhere. I can’t lean against the counters in my house anymore. They are out to get me, BUT NOT IF I GET THEM FIRST. I kill on sight. I used to feel bad about it, but not any more.
I hate ants, and I won’t apologize.