Ants in My Pants

This is for my mom, who loves this story and has me retell it to everyone....enjoy!


Before we lived in Las Vegas, about 5 years ago, we lived in Orange County California. It is so much different there than Vegas or Salt Lake (where we are origanally from). The humidity near the coast was very different from the desert; besides the climate there were many other adjustments to make. For instance, driving was a new challenge all on its own. For any one who has ever tried to battle the California traffic, I salute you. Any Californian knows that if you want to make it to work on time, you must leave your home early enough to have time to park on the freeway, before arriving at the office. But the biggest change was becoming accustomed to the local wildlife,... ants. It seems to me that Orange County was built directly on top of one gigantic ant hill. Deep beneath the cities and homes that people live in, are hundreds of miles of tiny tunnels loaded with ants, both black and red, creeping, crawling ants. On any given morning we would wake to find never-ending trails of ants; leading from one corner of the kitchen, winding through cupboards, over dishes and reaching to an almost invisible crack in the floor boards.

One day Tom’s alarm clock sounded at 4:30 am; just enough time to make a quick lunch and get to the jobsite after fighting traffic. It was still dark when Tom hit the snooze button for the second time. Barely conscious of my own thoughts, I asked, “Won’t that make you late?” Tom rationalized his actions of sleeping for just ten more minutes, by reminding me that he had set out his clothes and work boots the night before. When the alarm went off a third time, he sat up in the dark and began to get ready. After lacing up the heavy, steel-toed work boots that all electricians are required to wear, Tom crept quietly to the kitchen to prepare his mid-day meal.

While spreading the peanut butter on his sandwich, he noticed an ant, and then another, and another. “Here we go again!” Tom thought, as he searched for the line of ants to find where they were coming from. He looked but could see there were none on the counter, and no pests on the floor, in fact there were no ant trails in sight. But there it was again, a little tickle on his hand; where were the ants coming from? In horror, Tom dropped the knife he was using to spread the jam when he realized they were creeping out of his sleeve! He ran back to the bedroom and flicked on the light. “What it is?” I sat up, startled by the light. I squinted and turned my head to see what it was Tom was scowling at. Then I saw it too; a two foot wide column of black ants, covering the wall below the window, leading straight to the old blanket chest where his clothes had been placed the night earlier. In one quick movement he dropped his drawers, and stood there in his boxers with his pants around his ankles. He was covered in ants! Tom started to dance around scratching where ever he could reach; hopping on one foot then the other, violently thrashing his arms around as he smacked himself on the chest and legs. I couldn’t help but laugh, until he shot me a look that told me, this was serious. I apologized for the outburst, and didn’t blink for the fear off missing this hysterical scene. I asked Tom as calmly as I could, “Why don’t you change you clothes?” What he said next, I will never forget. “I got my boots on…they’re in my under wear!” With that he pulled his pants up and stormed out the door.

All day long at the jobsite, Tom’s co-workers were kind enough to point out the ants on his hardhat, neck, arms, and of course his pants. From then on the old phrase, “I’ve got ants in my pants” has taken on a new meaning for us.