…you’ve ever ridden in the van with a honeybee carcass in an envelope beside you…
…or with a baggie of rat droppings at your feet.
…you are glad for days when your husband makes it home in time to see the kids before bedtime.
…you have packed the kids in the van and ridden around for 8 hours to pest-control services just so you could spend some time with your husband.
…your version of a fly-swatter is a can of industrial strength bug spray.
…your daughter has been known to scream, “Call Daddy! Call Daddy!” because she saw a fly.
…you save the remains of any bug or spider you kill in your house so that your husband can identify it when he comes home.
…you’ve seen your husband’s face light up when a friend mentions their carpenter ant infestation, because husband knows he can help friend out.
…your kids think their daddy is a hero because he kills the stuff of nightmares.
…you’ve ever seen your husband crouching outside the house on his way inside, staring intently at the foundation, studying the ants.
…the phrase “apartment day” fills you with despair.
…you systematically avoid certain restaurants and hotels because, well, you just know too much.
…along the same lines, you have to bite your tongue when you hear friends and family talk of visiting certain restaurants and hotels and you decide that for them after the fact, ignorance is bliss.
…every plan you make is tentative based on the number of extra services that week.
…you hear your husband differentiating between ant species in casual conversation.
…your vocabulary has expanded by terms like backpack sprayer, termidor, and webster; and you hear the words “bedbug” and “roach” way more than you ever wanted to.
…your pregnancy finally gets you off the hook of washing your husband’s work clothes, on doctor’s orders to stay away from the chemicals.