of ants and cryptids

"Mom, can you hand me the can of WD-40?"

"Sure....why?"

"It belongs in the shed. I'll put it away."

That in itself should have roused my suspicions. My son never just puts anything away.


Earlier yesterday afternoon, he had used a magnifying glass to some purpose on the ant colony that lives in the crack of our driveway. A veritable swarm of ants came out to see what was cooking, literally. The ants who successfully navigated their way up his pant leg did not leave him unmarked. Their displeasure at his disturbance resulted in 7 or 8 nice-looking bites on his left knee and thigh.

So when it was time to leave for evening church, I noticed hordes of ants, dead, around the crack in the driveway. Apparently D has discovered that aerosol spray makes a totally awesome flamethrower. A pox on whoever let that gem of knowledge slip to my overactive son. The neighbors should never rest easy now unless there's a fire extinguisher close at hand. Even more disturbing is that I didn't know he was at it until the deed had long been done and over with. (Canning tomatoes is such an engrossing activity, you know.)

Today he has decided, in the spirit of last week's Bigfoot hoax (which, incidentally, was heralded with great grief under this roof), to perpetrate a hoax of his own. Puyallup needs a cryptid of its own, by golly, and he's the one to do it.

The plan involves a baby dragon of some type. Dragons, of course, breathe fire--apparently yesterday's success with the ants gave rise to some further creativity and planning. I, however, will be a total wet blanket to any further flamethrowing activity. This is extremely unpopular with my son, but I am concerned for the Greater Good here.

Now he is looking for stink bombs or smoke bombs left over from July 4.

Not for nothing does he own a t-shirt that says "Every great idea I have gets me in trouble."