Listen guys, I know you’re thirsty. It’s San Diego, it’s August, and every living thing that doesn’t have the ability turn the handle on a sink is suffering.
Here’s the thing: You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here. The way that I know that is that you all are still just a bunch of lone scouts, randomly wandering the vast expanse of my countertops. If you were going to find something here, you would have found it. You’ve been over and over the likely territory, and since you haven’t yet managed to organize yourselves into a cringe-inducing line of scavengers, let’s assume that is not in your future.
So, I honestly think the best thing you could do is go look somewhere else. I don’t have what you want, clearly, so your short lives would be better spent elsewhere.
Also, the first one of you who bit me had better be the last one, or else I’m going to abandon the peaceful coexistence we’ve been enjoying faster than you can say “thumb”.
The scouts are wandering all over my place, too. When they find something interesting enough report to base, and a trail forms, I carefully follow them back to the point of entry and mash in some toothpaste. Presto, they scatter. The problem is when the point of entry is somewhere I cannot get to…