1. You’ve been playing somewhere you shouldn’t have been playing. This could include sandpits, dung fields, beaver holes, ant farms. But perhaps it isn’t where you’ve been playing, but with whom you’ve been playing, which is worse. You’ve got to be careful, you know. They warn you about herpes, warties, the clap. But they never warn you about the ants. And the ants, I would say, are by far the worst. They’ll get right in there and stay for months, years. They’ll set up camp and just when you want to have a genuine human baby, you’ll end up with a six-legged infant calling you mama and making you cry in shame and regret twenty-four hours a day.
2. You’re wearing pants. This makes sense, provided you are an ant.
3. Someone is out to get you. There’s probably at least one person in this world who hates you. And that person, or persons if you’re really unfortunate, would probably love to see your rear come up in bites. Because bites on your rear, as it turns out, results in itchy rear, which means that your nemesis gets to see you drown in humiliation as your hands dive recklessly into your pants and scratchy-scratch-scratch until you end up with boils, which is not at all golden as the name so deceptively suggests.
4. There’s no aphrodisiac like loneliness. And you, my friend, are one lonely puppy. So my speculation is that you went into the garden, located some ants and placed them lovingly in your pants. Not only are they now with you at all times, but their presence is constantly made known. And this makes you one less lonely puppy. Which isn’t altogether pitiable. Only slightly.
5. You’re nervous. And the ants are metaphorical. Figurative little figures marching one by one.
6. Or maybe you’re just crazy. Loopy Loon, they call you. Loopy Loon always scratchin' her bum.
1 comment:
7. You're sitting on a bus. (This actually happened to me. I had ants crawl into my pants and bite me.)
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