Fire Ants vs. Me

So, we survived Christmas. We went to Mississippi. We survived Mississippi. So, we went to New Orleans. All I can say about New Orleans is it loses some of its charm when you travel with small children and you have to continually be on the lookout to prevent their awareness of the things that many people come to New Orleans to see. "Mama, what does it mean when it says the Men are prettier than the girls?" "Why are those women in this picture licking each other?" "Mom, why is that person singing out loud in the middle of the day?" "What does it mean to suck their heads and eat their tails?" There are also the great moments - the beauty of the Garden district, all the live oak trees that were made to be climbed, the sheer otherworldliness of the French Quarter. It made me be proud to be Southern again, even though New Orleans is another planet from the Mississippi Delta. However, it DOES have one thing in common with my beloved Mississippi - FIRE ANTS.

Growing up, my mother loved to scare/thrill me with stories of African Killer Bees. I remember always thinking, "This is the year they attack!" However, it never happened. But the fire ants did come. And they do kill people. For some very horrible reason they like nursing homes and I believe at least two people have expired from fire ants bites. Anyway, fire ants are BAD. I have been stung by bees, wasps, and yellow jackets. I will take them any day over a fire ant, mainly because you generally only get one of the flying nasties. The fire ants bring all their relatives and near neighbors. And they don't die after they bite. The first time I was really bitten by fire ants was in college. It was dark. I was out with a friend, being generally irresponsible, when I realized I had to pee. And there were no options on the Natchez Trace at night, like all self-sufficient women out there, I decided to just use the side of the road. The problem was I had consumed just enough irresponsibility to have delayed reaction time. And that delayed reaction time was way too much between when I started using the fire ant pile for my personal latrine and when I realized that I was covered with fire ants and they did not like being aquatic ants. I had 62 bites between my knees and my toes (sandals and all, you know). No shoe the next day. Which brings me to the point of the story. There are fire ants in downtown New Orleans and they found me. In broad daylight. I found this out as I was walking through the French Market, and I am pretty sure I looked like I had been voodoo cursed with all the sudden jumping and slapping of myself and the occasional moan. I would have been screaming expletives except I had the children with me, but since I was inhibiting their full shopping experience of tourist crap, I probably could have cursed like a drunk sailor and they would not have noticed. I didn't get that many bites, but I learned it is better to be bitten on the toe than on the tender insides of your knees. And, like many a visitor to New Orleans, I barely made it back to my car before I was yanking off my clothes, but as my friend Adrienne referred to it, I am glad they died before they got to my personal French Quarter.