We made a permanent move to Virginia Beach this month. Before we signed the lease on our house, we asked the landlord if he would hire pest control technicians if it were ever necessary. He chuckled and said he knew the property was clean, so if any bugs showed up, we probably brought 'em.

Our first night, as an exhausted Petey (only I am allowed to call him 'Petey') and I lay down our wee heads, we saw a trail of goose-stepping ants marching along the baseboard.

Since we sleep on futons on the floor, the presence of these little nuisances was alarming. We found their entry hole in the baseboard and Peter plugged it with bathroom caulking goo. As we lay there, we imagined them boring through the goo from the other side of the hole, and erupting triumphantly into our bedroom. It would be something like the movie, Aliens. Slime dripping everywhere -- The Revenge of the Ants! "And you thought you could keep us out, you stupid humanoids!", their leader would say, with a voice like Peter Lorre. Then he would stand on his back legs, feelers wiggling, laughing maniacally.

Since then, frequent dousings of Raid along windowsills and baseboards still haven't licked the problem. In the office, the little ants appear on the desk as if by transporter beam. We discovered that they're easily dispatched by mashing them with a finger tip. (And there's no chocolate mess!)

Three weeks of living here has established that the battle has no end in sight. I have to admit that I respect them as opponents. They show great single-mindedness and ingenuity.

I am also really impressed with their sense of smell. Moments after I set a glass of juice on a table, troops armed with trucks and artillery arrive and begin climbing into the glass for supplies. They don't even wait until I leave the room. I can look away at the newspaper and a minute later, lift the glass to my lips in time to see a few of them on the rim, thumbing their little noses at me.

Despite my respect for their tenacious work ethic, I don't want to live with them. And it's been really hard to create a united front against them. A few nights ago I got into bed and leapt out in horror as I came in contact with a wet slimy thing. I pulled back the sheet and there, smiling up at me, was a black, mushy banana. My mind flashed back to a moment earlier in the day when I had given a handsomely peeled one to Baby Tadin. My attention at that time diverted elsewhere and I didn't notice where he went with it.

I have learned now not to trust a two year old with a naked banana. He might eat it, or he might save it for later in a safe place like my bed.

My only consolation with that incident was that the ant noses hadn't sniffed it out. I think if I had snuggled down with that banana and a mass of swarming, daiquiri-slurping ants, I'd be on medication in a padded cell right now.

I continue to see them in my bathroom sink, on the coffee table and in the dishwasher! No matter how many I wipe away with a paper towel, or napalm with Raid, more appear to take their place. How do the new ants find their way to the same places where I annihilated their comrades? Do ants lift their little legs and stake out territory like dogs?

They have an oriental war ethic similar to one I remember reading about. The enemy can never win because the conquering army is prepared to send their subsequent generations to fight until they are eventually victorious. Like tiny Klingons.

Maybe they have a war propagandist hidden in the walls of my house. She's broadcasting faint radio messages like, "Hey stupid lady, you remember the old saying, 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?' You'll never win, so you might as well give up. Give us your groceries and surrender!"

I haven't given up yet, but I've recently read some books about prisoners who spent time in solitary confinement. Sometimes they were so lonely that they made friends with their bedbugs. I don't know if my sense of sympathy is that deep, but it could be an option to consider.