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At the bottom of the cornfield lay a beautiful, shadowed oak tree. Lucy spread out the picnic basket contents carefully and uncorked the apple-wine. She didn't notice the ants that were meandering up her carefully chosen silk hose. The leader, Adam Ant, waved his go-ahead. They sprinted the remaining distance to the juicy pork loin laying within reach of the raisin bowl. Meanwhile, Carl Feldspar was blasting on the radio that Terry carried up.
"Darling, pass the ham hock, eh?" As he sat pondering the hose, wondering if the golddigger rumors could ever be substantiated and what she meant by "ham hock," Adam, thighs hard as adamant, worked up his nerve before stepping forward to challenge Carl. Carl, the singing ant superstar had commandeered the bean dip but refused to eat it before singing his famous jingle "She'll be coming round the anthill wearing pie."
Terry stepped on him. The music died that day. So we all went home.
