As everything in Dubai must either be the world’s biggest, best, or most deserving of a superlative, here we have the world’s hottest, burningest ant bites. Iman was bit by an ant a few weeks ago- I heard her scream from halfway across the house and ran to find her clawing at her foot as an obviously stepped-on ant tried to make a feeble getaway. Iman kept crying ‘Hot! Momma, ow foot!’ and we spent some time sitting on the edge of the sink and running her foot under cool water. I’ve had one of those ant bites before, they really are intensely, shockingly painful, and they burn for hours.
Shortly after the bite, any ant Iman saw resulted in her running away and calling for reinforcements- “Oh no!! Ant!” And then Momma would come to the rescue with a shoe, and half the time Momma would come to rescue Iman from ant-like pieces of lint, but it was a good system. Iman would sound the alarm and I would send in the cavalry. And when the ant was gone, Iman would earnestly recount the story of what just happened, being sure to include the phrase ‘ant scawy!’ a few times for emphasis.
Fast forward to this evening- Iman came running up the hall with a sippy-cup of milk in her hands and to deliver an important message:
Iman: Momma! Ants inna milk! Livingwoom!
Me: What? Ants? In milk?
(I look around. I don’t see any ants in any milk, and we’re already in the living room.)
Iman (nodding): Ya. Milk. Livingwoom Ants!
Me (I look at her suspiciously): Show Momma.
Iman leads me up the hall to the play room and points to the floor, where I find two ants drowning. On the floor. In tiny puddles of milk.
I look at Iman.
I look at her sippy-cup.
Evidence would suggest that as punishment for previous crimes against Imanity, the ants were sentenced to death by drowning, one drop at a time, from the supposedly spill-proof sippy cup of doom.
Iman looks to me for approval.
I nod at her and she nods back.
A warrior is born.
And henceforth, they called her AntBane.
Oh, and Ramadan Kareem! 😀