What bothers me most is something trivial, something that shouldn't worry me, but there you have it—it's the pollsters under the sink. There was another infestation last week, and I had to call the landlord. He was testy. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Are you undecided now? Is that why they're there?" I told him that, no, I was exactly the same as I ever was. He came over, shaking his head and swearing, and sprayed in the cabinets, ignoring their scuffling and shrieks, their requests for just a moment of our time. He also put poison in the walls, and I believe that will kill them, with a margin of error of plus or minus 3%.