There’s a fly in my house and it’s annoying me.
It’s not an ordinary house fly. I know because I killed it five times yesterday.
Yet it’s here again this morning flying about as if it owns the place.
I am beginning to think it is some sort of mutant nineteen to life fly.
I’ve wacked it so many times with a fly swatter (Shut up. Yes fly swatters still exist and yes, I own three of them.) it should be beyond dead.
It’s still here.
It’s still annoying me.
I’m still trying to eradicate it from my house.
I have visions of tacky, swirly, strips of brown gooed paper hanging from my ceiling. Those are the things from my childhood that still haunt me. And yet, if I could find stuff like that, I’d certainly try it.
The fly must go.
I make the payments on this house.
The mortgage is in my name.
I should be the one who says who stays and what goes and I say the fly has to go.
It disagrees with me. I think it may even be inviting guests. I just saw a gnat buzz by. I am really unhappy now.
I have an exterminator who exterminates my house on a regular basis. The fly and his friends don’t care.
I have enlisted help with eradicating the fly. Help being my son – younger, taller, hopefully quicker
Son has tried the fly swatter, the newspaper, a magazine, a towel, cursing, and finger pointing with one finger.
The fly remains.
I tried inviting the fly to dinner by pointing to the oven, preheated to ‘hot as blazing hell’. He declined the invitation.
I try to avoid anything sprayish in my home due to allergies and non-stop sneezing, but I am seriously considering that Bug-B-Gone spray – if it comes with a guarantee. Right now I’d spray TNT if it would rid my house of the fly. I fear that it may also rid me of my house. Either that or I’d have to clean up the mess. I try to avoid that cleaning thing when it comes to messes.
When I left home this morning I set a trap for the fly, one I’m sure will work. I admit it’s sort of a Rube Goldberg contraption, and I’m proud of it. I’ll be more proud if the fly is gone when I get home this evening.
If not, I’m setting a place for him at the table, complete with brown gooey gravy on a thn strip of paper – served just for him.
From the life and mind of Wanda M. Argersinger
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