It started with just one. I noticed a single, tiny black ant on the kitchen counter. I grabbed a paper towel, smashed it, and threw it in the kitchen trash can. I made my way back to my original destination, the coffee pot, and started my daily routine. I don’t have one of those fancy Keurig pots, or Nescafé whatevers that George Clooney and everyone’s mother raves about. I have an old school, honest to God, coffee pot. It doesn’t even have a timer on it. Yes, I have to manually make my own coffee. This actually shocks a lot of people. No, I don’t go to Starbucks every morning and spend three dollars for a cup of coffee. Now, that’s not to say I have never been inside a Starbucks, or any other coffee, latte, juice bar, hipster places. I often meet friends or have the occasional meeting at one of these places. The baristas are often baffled that I just want BLACK COFFEE! No, I don’t want sugar, milk, cream, spice, or even a drizzle of honey. The cashiers often ask again, “are you sure?” because apparently, they don’t believe me. They should be thanking me for saving them from the grande, hot mocha frappuccino lite with coconut milk, add a dash of cinnamon, and an extra pump of sugar, standing behind me in line. I grabbed my favorite coffee mug from the cabinet and smiled. My brother bought me this mug years ago. It reads “Don’t talk to me until this cup is empty.” Yes, it’s all very well, and funny, but I really only like the mug for one reason…the size. It holds about 2 cups of coffee in it. I have often pondered about how useful this mug really is and how much time it saves me. I normally have to go refill my mug every 30-45 minutes, give or take, but with this lifesaver, I’m good for over an hour. All of those precious seconds of my life, every day, could add up to hours in a full lifetime. I told my brother this one time, and his reaction was “you really need to get a hobby.” Not that I’m surprised; it’s a typical David response. He thinks he is a master of hobbies because he has one. When he’s not working, he’s golfing or watching golf. Maybe that counts as two. Yes, the wild and exciting times of David King, ladies and gentlemen. To answer your ever-burning question, he is not the black coffee type. Yes, you guessed it, he is the grande, hot mocha frappuccino lite with coconut milk, add a dash of cinnamon, and an extra pump of sugar, standing behind me in line. As you can imagine, our parents are ever so proud. The coffee finished brewing and I poured the steaming, beautiful, dark liquid into the mug. The smell already had my mouth yearning for that first sip. My lips were pursed, ready to indulge, when I noticed a line of ants running along the back counter, behind my coffee maker, towards the kitchen sink. “Seriously?” I whispered to myself; irritated that my routine has been so rudely altered by these uninvited guests. I gently lay the mug on the counter and go in search of more paper towels.