Out of frustration, this past weekend I kicked one of the many anthills taking over our lawn. I don’t know what got into me. I just lost it. So, I hulled off and slung my foot right into the sweet spot of their little home.

Blades of grass, dirt and hundreds of red bodies flew skyward. Yeah, it was probably the most spectacular show to take place in our backyard since “Steve’s Night of a Thousand Sparks.” – 4th of July 2009.

There I stood in the aftermath, staring down at this mound of dirt and a mob of displaced insects.  “Uh oh, I got my flops on.”

You know the kind of sting that burns so much it almost feels icy cold? To my surprise, fire ants have an extraordinary adhesive quality.  In a matter of seconds, my macho anger turned to utter fear. Dozens of biting insects clung on for dear life to my right ankle. I let out a 12-year-old-girl shriek and began frantically running around in a small circle – my mind’s best response when facing danger.

The whole time I shook my entire body, making large sweeps downward with my hands – pretty dramatic stuff. Some of the littler ants even wove their way through my leg-hair jungle. The whole thing was intense.

After about a minute of terror, I collected myself. I took a quick look in all directions to make sure none of the neighbors saw what just happened. I even mumbled something out loud to downplay my reaction. I think it was, “That’s crazy. Those little guys are quick. That’s crazy.”

I went inside and tried my best to put the episode behind me. The next day, three more hills stood where the initial demolition took place. I actually think they’re kind of neat to watch, from a respectable distance. I’m going to leave them there.