Fly Away

Have you ever swatted a dying fly? You know, the one that is making lazy circles around the room. That notion always seemed so romantically reminiscent of summer? But now it just seems macabre. A fly moving so slowly you can actually swat it with your hand? It was probably searching for a nice sunny spot to just end its short existence (just 2 to 4 weeks!). But it was bothering me, and I had two other hyper active cousins of his buzzing around the house, so I took action.

Could a fly swatter be found? No! Even though I bought the cute green flip-flop fly swatter (say that ten times) just to swat at flies this summer. I spent 3 hours looking for it. Not a consecutive 3 hours. More like 15 minutes stretched out over 3 hours. Have I ever told you that I think I have ADHD? What was I saying? Oh. The swatter. I used an issue of LDS Living. The magazine at which, by the way, my sister is employed as an editor. It's a great read. Highly recommended. And it'll double as a fly swatter when yours has walked off (little flip-flop joke).

The fly died after just one hit. But I got the toilet paper and flushed the little bugger. Just in case he was faking it. They do that, you know. Play dead and then get up and buzz around again.

It's late, and even though 2 more are lurking, I think I must retire. I'm just not looking forward to waking up in the dead of the night to the tickle of fly on my nose. And then spending the next hour looking, pausing, creeping, swatting!, pausing, hearing, creeping, swatting! ... that would be a funny video. A lady in her pjs, 3 a.m., trying to kill a fly who'll only live 14 days days anyways.