Fire Ants

In perusing today's compilation of blog posts I noticed they were all about our less than wonderful president. Yikes! I hate when this happens so I thought I'd relate a story about little thingies called Fire Ants. I'd never heard of them until three days ago which means I'd never come in contact with any. It so happens I was on the golf course and just finished hole number 10 when I had to do what men always do on the course; look for some bushes because we're either too lazy or too dumb to hit the head after the 9th hole. After teeing off I found what looked like a perfect spot; shielded from the group behind us and not directly in line with the homes lining the fairway. Wait! Was that a granny I saw looking at me? Nah! It couldn't be so I eased into some slightly tall grass--zip, splash, zip I was done. After my duty was completed I walked to the cart, sat down, then started yelping and slapping my legs, pants and everywhere below the equator. I could barely see the reddish microscopic little bastards that had attached themselves to my frame. They were scurrying about, biting flesh the way I dig into a Whataburger and I was slapping clothes and skin the way Indian women smash clothes on a rock. Holy mother of pain. My buddy told me they were called Fire Ants. I did the best I could to get through the ordeal then forgot about them until today. So I'm wondering, is there a correlation between Fire Ants and dime sized welts with, yuck, pustules in the center? My guess is yes. And the best thing about this post is I wrote it without mentioning 'you know who'.