Ants in my Pants

Because I love and care about you so severely, I understand how crucial it is for your personal serenity to keep you fully informed on the voyage of my bodily woes. For me to experience the tribulations of my physique without sharing it with you is in fact, a deep injustice. As someone who cares about the betterment of humanity it is my civic duty to continue with the saga of Toni’s biological quandaries. 

It began with my being told that my liver wasn’t functioning properly, and there is nothing like a dysfunctional liver to motivate me to do psychedelic medicine in the forest with Shamans. I then woke up after that experience having a tick hanging off my heck, like a diminutive Dracula slurping my plasma yet dissatisfied by my lack of virginity. The tick and I engaged in an exchange of fluids, without my consent mind you, which made this minuscule monstrous organism a blood rapist. I of course feared contracting a tick STD, and as such got it tested at the lab. Living in New England we all fear Tick AIDS, otherwise known as Lyme Disease. When I got the results, I was relieved to find that the tick tested negative for Lyme, but positive for Bartonella. So, I guess I potentially now have tick chlamydia. 

A few days later I woke up itching. Now I am sure there are some people who can itch and have a mature relationship with this discomfort. They may notice the itchy sensation, but still maintain the emotional maturity and foresight to know that scratching is not the answer. I, however, am not that kind of person. When something itches on my body my solution is to claw myself until I no longer have skin.

A few days went by with me using my talons to tear at my own flesh before I started to ask the question, “Hey Toni, why are you so itchy?” My first assumption was fleas. I figured my dog gave me fleas. 

Toni: I think my dog has fleas.

Receptionist at the Vet: Is she scratching a lot?  

Toni: No. 

Receptionist at the Vet: Then why do you think she has fleas?   

Toni: Because I’m scratching a lot.

Receptionist at the Vet: Oh. Okay. Well let’s use this flea comb to see.   

Toni: You’re going to comb my skin?

Receptionist at the Vet: No – the dog’s fur.    

Toni: Right. 

We comb the dog. 

Receptionist at the Vet: Hmmmmm I really don’t see any fleas on her. 

Toni: Do you think you could look at my bites and tell me if you think they are flea bites?

Receptionist at the Vet: Sure.    

Toni: Here is a picture I took because I didn’t think it was appropriate to pull down my pants at the Vet, and its mostly on the back of my legs. 

Receptionist at the Vet: Thanks for picking up on that social cue. 

I show her the picture. 

Toni: What do you think?

Receptionist at the Vet: It’s hard to tell? They look like spider bites to me.

Toni: Can I just show you?

I pull down my pants in the FRONT of the vet office. 

Receptionist at the Vet: Yeah those don’t look like fleas to me. I think you’re sleeping with an angry spider.  


Receptionist at the Vet: I think so? Either that or do you have ants in your house?

Toni: Of course I have ants in my house. They’re everywhere. 

Receptionist at the Vet: They could be carnivorous ants? 


After fulling cleaning and vacuuming my room of any potential enraged arachnids I noticed that the itching was spreading. It was not only on my legs, but also my arms, and lucky for me, my ass. I then became convinced that I did in fact have ants in my pants. 

As the days passed, and the itching continued, I looked at the enflamed stigmatas covering my human casing and figured that perhaps ants weren’t’ the culprit. I knew it was time to do the adult thing. No – not go to the doctor silly – self-diagnose my rash by using google images. After beholding a variety of gruesome ailments, I decided I had scabies. 

At the moment of my verdict I was visiting NYC to be on a Podcast, and suddenly realized I was potentially spreading scabies all over the city. I finally called my doctor in New Hampshire.

Toni: I think I have scabies. Can I please get some medicine prescribed to me? 

Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Why do you think you have scabies?

Toni: The internet.  

Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Okay. Well the doctor can’t prescribe you medicine over the phone without seeing you.         

Toni: Can I send you a picture of my open flesh wounds? 

Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Okay.          

Toni: I just don’t want to be spreading scabies like the outbreak monkey.

Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Can you go to a clinic down there? Or the emergency room?

Toni: Gross! I’m not going to a city emergency room! Who knows what people have!

Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Right. They could have scabies.          

As I was about to get on the subway, on the streets of NY, I pulled down my pants so my aunt could take a fresh picture of the back of my legs. I did however have the intelligence not to make her photograph my ass crack, which was also equally afflicted. 

The receptionist called me back. 

Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: The doctor can’t tell by the pictures and without seeing you.          

Toni: For the love of Gaia. 

Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: We can’t see you until Tuesday. 

I decided I couldn’t wait that long and went to a “walk in” clinic. Call me old fashioned, but something about scabies in my anus made me want to take action.

For the record, I highly suggest whenever you go to the doctor from now on, that you believe you have scabies in your rectum – then anything they tell you will be a relief 

Doctor at Walk in Clinic: That’s poison ivy. 


Here is the Mama ant commanding her babies to attack… at least that’s how it feels in my pants!