Bugs. They don't deserve your compassion.

Dear Kate,

You're just a pansy. Don't think, for one moment, that if those ants had the chance they wouldn't kill you.

You know what freaks me out? How tiny they are. Be careful where you fall asleep cause those little buggers will crawl right up your nose. Biggest fear right there. Tiny insects that can crawl into your orifices. That, and raccoons that will eat your face.

Kill those MFers! Don't hesitate! By any means necessary, destroy all the ants! And the earwigs. And the beetles and ladybugs. Oh, and any stickbugs you might come across. FREAKY. Moths, too. They flutter around at high speeds. Can't trust anything like that. Butterflies aren't so fast so they can live, but definitely kill all moths.

-Molly

Dead-ant, dead-ant...

Dear Molly,

I've just slaughtered an entire colony of teeny-tiny ants -- not the big, ugly, full-of-green-guts carpenter ants, but the miniscule little baby-looking ones -- with just a couple sprays of this organic pest control solution I found under the sink.

It was pretty heartless. Sort of like the equivalent of dropping the H-bomb on an entire population. I mean, these things were stopped instantaneously in their tracks. One minute they're marching around my sink all happy-go-lucky, munching away at whatever grain of sugar they might find along the way, and the next -- BAM -- they're dead. Life: gone.

I felt a little bad. It's one thing to wash the little buggers down the drain... but an entirely other thing to inflict instantaneous death and destruction on their teeny-tiny lives. I think.

Why am I feeling bad about killing ants?? There will always be more. The little hamlet of a town I live in is famous for its ants, apparently. In fact, I bet if I go take a look right now, I'll find some more. And I'm going to have to kill them, too.

So why does it bother me?

Thanks,

Kate

Now finish up them taters; I'm gonna go fondle my sweaters.

Dear Molly,

Lifeguard, huh? You know, I've always liked whistles. My major lament as an RA in college was that I wasn't issued a whistle. The walkie-talkie I got to use when I was on duty was pretty sweet, though. But a bullhorn? Well, that's just brilliant. I'm in.

Too bad I'm not really all that great a swimmer (I quit swimming lessons), and my CPR certification has about 10 years worth of expiration behind it.

But! I'm applying to summer camp counselor positions. Awesome, right?? I've seen the documentary Wet Hot American Summer about a million gazillion times. I even have the exact same shorts as McKinley (Michael Ian Black). They're my favorite shorts. I know all the songs to Godspell by heart -- I even landed the "Day By Day" solo in the 4th-grade concert. True story.

I think I'd make an awesome camp counselor, don't you?

Don't you??

Thanks,

Kate

Hair of the Dog

Dear Kate,

It'd be nice to see that dollhouse get some work. I remember going to that dollhouse store on Primrose Hill with Gram after school. Quite honestly, it sort of gave me the creeps. Is it odd that we never had dolls for the dollhouse?

And, true, you with a nail gun is very strange picture. I guess I was more picturing myself. You know my affinity for tools. Slap a bandana on me and call me Rosie the Rivitor.

I can see you as a lifeguard, though. You'd get a wistle. And maybe even a bullhorn.

As for Jenna, I don't think you can just scare the baby out of her like a hiccup. I'm no expert or anything, but that just seems unlikely to happen. Also, I don't know if there is such a thing as in utero shaken baby syndrome (IUSBS), but I certainly wouldn't want to find out. So I wouldn't reccomend shaking it out of her. Did you know it only takes 5-10 seconds of shaking to seriously injure a baby?

Now, like I said, I'm no expert, but I hear that sex is supposed to help induce labor. It's only fitting, of course, that what got Jenna into this state, will get her out.

There are other natural ways to induce as well. Massage, spicy foods, even acupressure. Here's a website with links to information about these methods and others: link

Also, I'd like to mention that while looking up this website I came across many others and all of them said to walk. So tell Jenna to get up off her pregnant butt and take a stroll around the block every day. Let gravity do some work.

Best of luck when the thing finally pops,
Molly

Oh (Baby) Boy

Dear Molly,

First off, you need to start titling your posts. Please. Thanks.

Secondly, that's all good advice regarding my summertime lazing, but to be quite honest, after four years as a member of glorified book clubs as a Lit major, I'm just about ready to keep my reading time to myself. Lazing reading.

Also: sure, I could volunteer at some organization or other, but Habitat for Humanity, really? Do you really see me wielding a nail gun? Come on, dude. Come on.

I do, however, plan on building a dollhouse this summer. Pretty badass, right? I'd also like to renovate the one we built with Gram. Fresh paint, a new roof, maybe a new floor in the kitchen, updated decor... you know, basic home renovations. I'll take pictures for you.

Anyway. Advice.

As I'm sure you know, our cousin, Jenna, is about 45 months pregnant. I'm presently looking at her lounging across the couch with a look of severe discomfort on her face. Now she just sat herself up -- after what looked like an intense amount of effort -- and she's letting out this monster exhalation akin to one you'd let out while suffering from indigestion.

She's pretty damn pregnant. It's making me uncomfortable just looking at her.

So, question: What can I do to speed up this birthing process? She's ready for that baby to be out of her. She's given him (it's a him, had you heard?) his eviction notice, but the dude just won't budge. Is pregnancy like hiccups? Can I sneak up behind her and scare the baby out of her? What about sudden, loud noises? Or maybe a bumpy car ride?

Seriously, this has got to happen. Like yesterday.

Thanks,

Kate

Dear Kate,

Don't waste all your time lazing about. You're going to get bored. And then you're going to get angry at everyone around you, when really you should be angry at yourself for not being able to self-entertain. Why don't you ambark on some great summer project? I'm not saying build a boat (although that would be awesome) or discover the god particle (which could potentially destroy the world), but maybe something smaller, more local. Why not join up with Habitat for Humanity. I'll bet you'd enjoy that, you'd get to use tools. You could sing "the Hammer Song" (can i just mention how gorgeous Mary Travers is in that video) all day. Or, if that option doesn't appeal to you, search out your local library and start volunteering. Maybe you could start a summer reading program where you introduce a younger generation to the classics that we grew up with. You know, something that isn't Harry Potter. They could read the Wind in the Willows and the Chronicles of Narnia. You could show them the real Mary Poppins who feeds the twins gingerbread fingers. And the real Peter Pan, who isn't just a lost boy, but a conceited, entitled child who is afraid of being abandoned.
If I were you, this is exactly what I would do. In fact, I'd love to do this even though I'm not you. Maybe I'll take my own advice and find some time to start my own reading group.

Think it over,
Molly