Whatever snuck in through my window yesterday night and ate one of my pieces of bread through two plastic bags – sucks. As I stared at the ripped bag, trying to deduce what type of animal committed such an atrocity, I was faced with the tough decision eating one of the two remaining rolls, or not. As usually, I was hungry, on a very tight budget, and the bakery is a ten-minute walk through shade-less equatorial sun, so I decided to eat the roll that was furthest from the site of the attack – and hoped that the culprit had a clean mouth.

As I walked in the front door after my early morning run the following morning, I was worried about making the decision to-eat or not-to-eat the remaining mostly intact portion of the only wheat bread in town. Luckily, the thousands of ants marching happily across my countertop carrying away my bread made the not-to-eat decision a whole lot easier.