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A Tale of Two Termites

Two, two hundred, two thousand, two million, two billion.  All named Fred.  That’s how no one has been punched in the face.  I name them so I mind their existence a little less.

We’ve had a leak in that spot of the basement forever.  There’s also been a known pipe issue right there forever.  So, you know, is how it goes.

I’ve also been noticing a weird something(?) for a long time that I’ve understandably thought was part of the wall disintegrating.  It’s right there with the water leak and oh hey, everything thing else wall related is falling apart in that spot.

Then finally after way too long, I noticed little almost clear bugs and that something weird seemed to be a tunnel they were building.  Pat took a look, consulted Google, and declared them termites.  So.  Awesome, yes?

Yes! (No!  No!  No!)

So Pat called the apartment complex and told them flat-out with no uncertainty that we had termites.  And they sent their bug guy out.  He spent about 2 minutes in the basement, agreed they were termites and then told me husband that he doesn’t do termites, they’d have to call in the specialist.

Ok if you don’t do termites why the fuck are you here to begin with?  Oh how I wondered and angered.  Then I joked that the termite guy would spent 1.5 minutes (he’s the expert so he wouldn’t need the full 2) looking, agree they were termites, and then leave.

I loath being right.  Except when it’s convenient to be right.  This is the opposite of convenient.

I sleep in that room.  They are eating the floor above my head.  I’m going to wake some morning to find myself in bed with the dining room table.

Now, I could have written this post a month ago.  I would have, even, but I figured I’d hold off until I could announce that something had been done.

The only thing that’s been done is I’ve rearranged my whole basement.  Honestly they haven’t invested to the point of the furniture being in danger but why chance it?  Also, I do still sleep right there.  They are eating the walls, the floor and allowing flooding of my space.

And I can’t go all angry Karen on them because Pat warns I’ve only seen the workers which are pacifists.  Apparently there are warriors somewhere in my walls and they are less paci, and more fist.

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