My daughter demands death.

Ants have invaded the room in our house where the kids play. They are angry. Outraged, really. They told us to call an exterminator.

So we did. He arrived yesterday. I started to explain the problem, but Clara and Charlie interjected, bringing him to the room and explaining the problem themselves. 

I just watched and listened.

After determining where the ants were getting into the house, he told the kids what he was going to do. “I’m going to put some ant food in the cracks of the windows and doors for the ants. They’ll find the food and bring it back to their nest, and the food will put all the other ants to sleep.”

Clara leapt off the couch. “Sleep? I don’t want them to go to sleep! I want you to kill them!”

The exterminator was taken aback by Clara’s bloodthirsty response. He stared silently at her for a moment, dumbfounded.  

So I explained. “They’ve been stomping on the ants all week. They are both very comfortable with murdering insects.”

It was sweet of the exterminator to try to protect my children’s innocence, but when it comes to ants in the room where they play, my lovely, precious, delightful little kids would not object to the use of nuclear weapons if necessary.