1 - 800 - Why do I Bother?
I'm waging a war.
I am taking no prisoners.
Slowly but surely, I will eradicate the presence of grain/bread product from my kitchen.
Every simple sugar, every complex carbohydrate, each and every one is out. Sucrose, fructose, lactose, galactose, galactica, gattica, they're all things of the past to me. Pain me as it might pasta, rice, croissants, bread, bulgar (ok losing the bulgar won't pain me much) and anything bearing a resemblance to these foods will be slashed and burned, raped and pillaged from this home. It may take me time but I will emerge from my warpath like winged victory herself.
I know what you're thinking, "Adrienne, can it be, is it conceivable you've succumbed to the horrors of fad dieting? Surely you haven't taking up with the South Beach Zombies and the Atkins Undead? Please, for the love of all that is holy tell us it isn't so!"
To which I reply: Don't be retarded. This isn't a showing of 28 Days Later. Have you met me? Is there a span of 20 minutes let alone a week, cringe, a month in which I don't consume carbs? Some day my metabolism will slow and I may have to make that frightening choice between my greatest love affair to date and weighing 800 pounds. But until then suffice to say there are only two places to find the recipe for Fritos Chili Pie and I'll give you a hint, I don't buy Hormel Chili.
"So what then," cry you huddled masses, "can be the meaning of this?"
Well, if you hadn't interrupted me in the first place I could have explained it right away. Now it's all built up in your head. The point is I'm battling against the Great and Terrible Indian Meal Moth. And I don't mean just one. These evil little creatures have infested my home and I'm not going to take it any more. For a while I bought these traps which seemed to contain and possibly have rid me of them for good. As suggested by the prestigious investigative source the internet, I threw out what seemed to be extraneous open packages they might lurk in. At the time, it seemed that I was safe.
But oh no. They hid in waiting. Biding their little mothy time and finding new more nefarious places to settle. When I began seeing them in the kitchen again I thought perhaps more traps might do the trick. Ho ho, wrong again fool! Eventually they began making appearances into my room, mocking me with their lackadaisical idyl upon my walls, flaunting their insectal simplicity as they hovered in the air. Angered, I took to chasing them, trying to kill them mid flight with a mighty slap of my hands. Frustratingly, the air currents from bringing my fingers together often created a small enough gust to thrust them just out of my reach. Like the proverbial Tantalus, my thirst for their blood only strengthed as the water I sought shrank away with each further attempt to drink.
It became a sickness with me. One minute I'd be having a pleasant conversation with a friend, sitting and chatting over a cup of coffee or a tasty treat, then I'd spot one of them just out of reach, floating above my friend's head. I'd lunge after what usually appeared to the visitor as thin air, frantically clapping my hands over and over after the evil little bug, like some sort of deranged circus seal gone mad from the pressure of performing. I tried to just ignore them. This tactic led only to the paranoid conviction that every time I saw something out of the corner of my eye it must be another of the brood taunting me for my incompetance. The Indian Meal Moth has led me to a greater respect for the dog that tries desperately in vain to catch his own tale. Though a mere 3/8 inches in frame, I had truly been mentally beaten by this little foe.
So, it has come to this. I will starve them out of this place if it's the last thing I do. I will purge my home of the farm-derived bounty they feast upon. I will freeze and refridgerate anything that is not vacummed sealed or made of chicken.
And then, I will watch them die.
I am taking no prisoners.
Slowly but surely, I will eradicate the presence of grain/bread product from my kitchen.
Every simple sugar, every complex carbohydrate, each and every one is out. Sucrose, fructose, lactose, galactose, galactica, gattica, they're all things of the past to me. Pain me as it might pasta, rice, croissants, bread, bulgar (ok losing the bulgar won't pain me much) and anything bearing a resemblance to these foods will be slashed and burned, raped and pillaged from this home. It may take me time but I will emerge from my warpath like winged victory herself.
I know what you're thinking, "Adrienne, can it be, is it conceivable you've succumbed to the horrors of fad dieting? Surely you haven't taking up with the South Beach Zombies and the Atkins Undead? Please, for the love of all that is holy tell us it isn't so!"
To which I reply: Don't be retarded. This isn't a showing of 28 Days Later. Have you met me? Is there a span of 20 minutes let alone a week, cringe, a month in which I don't consume carbs? Some day my metabolism will slow and I may have to make that frightening choice between my greatest love affair to date and weighing 800 pounds. But until then suffice to say there are only two places to find the recipe for Fritos Chili Pie and I'll give you a hint, I don't buy Hormel Chili.
"So what then," cry you huddled masses, "can be the meaning of this?"
Well, if you hadn't interrupted me in the first place I could have explained it right away. Now it's all built up in your head. The point is I'm battling against the Great and Terrible Indian Meal Moth. And I don't mean just one. These evil little creatures have infested my home and I'm not going to take it any more. For a while I bought these traps which seemed to contain and possibly have rid me of them for good. As suggested by the prestigious investigative source the internet, I threw out what seemed to be extraneous open packages they might lurk in. At the time, it seemed that I was safe.
But oh no. They hid in waiting. Biding their little mothy time and finding new more nefarious places to settle. When I began seeing them in the kitchen again I thought perhaps more traps might do the trick. Ho ho, wrong again fool! Eventually they began making appearances into my room, mocking me with their lackadaisical idyl upon my walls, flaunting their insectal simplicity as they hovered in the air. Angered, I took to chasing them, trying to kill them mid flight with a mighty slap of my hands. Frustratingly, the air currents from bringing my fingers together often created a small enough gust to thrust them just out of my reach. Like the proverbial Tantalus, my thirst for their blood only strengthed as the water I sought shrank away with each further attempt to drink.
It became a sickness with me. One minute I'd be having a pleasant conversation with a friend, sitting and chatting over a cup of coffee or a tasty treat, then I'd spot one of them just out of reach, floating above my friend's head. I'd lunge after what usually appeared to the visitor as thin air, frantically clapping my hands over and over after the evil little bug, like some sort of deranged circus seal gone mad from the pressure of performing. I tried to just ignore them. This tactic led only to the paranoid conviction that every time I saw something out of the corner of my eye it must be another of the brood taunting me for my incompetance. The Indian Meal Moth has led me to a greater respect for the dog that tries desperately in vain to catch his own tale. Though a mere 3/8 inches in frame, I had truly been mentally beaten by this little foe.
So, it has come to this. I will starve them out of this place if it's the last thing I do. I will purge my home of the farm-derived bounty they feast upon. I will freeze and refridgerate anything that is not vacummed sealed or made of chicken.
And then, I will watch them die.
posted by A at 10:56 AM
1 Comments:
Adrienne, one summer I had nightmares, terrible terrible nightmares about a pantry moth infestation. They drove me absolutely mad. I put everything in ziplock bags, wiped all surfaces with a bleach solution, set traps, and prayed.
Best of luck.
Love,
Kate
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