Back in the early eighties I lived down south in Meridian, MS.........we were out flying at an old airport - pretty much like usual......there were covered hangers where we got out of the sun with a large patch of grass before the paved (full scale) runway was reached. We normally stood right at the edge of the paved runway, just in the grass to fly. Remember we're in the deep south.....I don't know what I was flying but I'm sure that I didn't want to crash it........oh.....OUCH ! what the heck just bit me?.......hey now my ankle is itching like something is crawling up my pants leg.......oh crap, now my leg feels like its on fire!
I looked down and realized I was standing on an ant hill - FIRE ANTS. I couldn't land fast enough......shut the engine down, tossed the radio on the ground and pulled off my pants and started swatting!
I didn't care about or even think of vanity, I just wanted the biting to STOP! You know it doesn't take but a bite or two from a fire ant to know you've been bitten.
Needless to say, I paid a lot more attention to where I stood to fly - every time out!