I know you are standing by, anxiously hopping from one foot to the other, in complete suspense, awaiting the latest news flash of the ongoing saga of The Millipede Invasion. Remember those news-reels where the little guy in the cap and oversized messenger bag is standing on the bustling street corner, holding up the newspaper with still damp ink: "Extra! Extra! Read All About It!" in an ear-grating, high-pitched voice that will not be ignored.
That's not me.
But I do have a smidgen of information to share in reference to the ongoing battle with broom and dustpan. There are three in the bathtub, two deceased, one climbing on the sides of the tub. There were three, actively wiggling, ones on the kitchen floor, and numerous little crispy, crunchy curli-cues, scattered randomly about, where they slowed to a standstill and breathed their last gasp. I was so weary when I got home from Publix last night, I had no interest in housework what-so-ever. Did not care to sweep or even think. But there are probably only a couple of dozen of them, in various stages of decrepit-ness or morbidity in the kitchen, plus whatever number chose to find other locations to demise in private.
I think it's really over...so maybe my theory about seasonal-ness has some merit. Guess we could google that...
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