It happens without any warning.
You're just minding your own business one day, strolling through life you might say, perhaps even having the audacity to think you're actually caught up on things, tra-la-laing as you pour yourself some peach tea when BAM!
You spot one.
No, SEVEN HUNDRED MILLION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Little squirming things meandering across YOUR COUNTERS like they own the place. You trace them to the doorway, squinting in disbelief, trying to withhold the scream that is moving up your throat.
They are inside, they are outside, they are on you YOU CAN JUST FEEL IT!
You shudder. You square your jaw. You run inside, grab a paper towel and SQUISH SQUISH SQUISH DIE DIE DIE GET OUT OF MY WORLD YOU UNINVITED HOUSE GUESTS! And for the love, STAY AWAY from the (mercifully unopened) EASTER CANDY!!!
You finish your feat of bravery, of domination, of INCREDIBLE ABSOLUTE DISGUST AT THESE ANTS IN YOUR KITCHEN by sending not one, but three, texts to your husband in a matter of mere minutes:
Text #1 (The Panic): Ants in the kitchen!!! A lot!!! Can you bring something home to kill them?!
Text #2 (The Brave Front): Okay. Not as bad as I thought. Still gross. But I killed most of them.
Text #3 (The Let's-Be-Honest-I-Am-Still-Wading-In-Serious-Panic): Okay, nope, they are still coming. Will you bring home some killer after all?...I am not being dramatic!
Scene ends with the triumphant entrance of said husband with said ant killer who makes you swoon with the set of a trap and the very generous spray of a chemical that makes you feel like that crazy man from the Home Alone movies laughing maniacally with a gravelly, "Keep the change, ya filthy animal(s)."