For 5 days, there has been a fly that has been in our condo making me go crazy-mad. I remind myself of my mother when there is a fly around. During the summer, she would have a fly swatter in her hand or at least within reach at all times. It was no surprise at all if she would smack a fly dead right there on the dinner table. The only difference is that I do not have a fly swatter so I just go bat-crazy, swinging my arms in the air, trying to knock it unconscious with my hands.

 

This, quite obviously, has not worked for me.

 

Yesterday, in a fit of near-hysteria, I did the only thing I could think to do for some peace. I turned off all the lights in the house and turned on the light in the bathroom. I stood in there until I had lured him in, then I ran out, flipping the switch off, and slamming the door shut.

 

I promptly googled how long a fly can live. I got a lot of answers, from 15 minutes to 3.5 days. Since this was obviously a super fly and ancient in fly life already, I hoped that it would die in the bathroom, conveniently directly over the trash can. I forgot to put a sign on the door though saying, “Do not enter! Wait for fly to die!” so when Kevin came home last night, he went in the bathroom for a tissue.

 

ZOOM. Out came the fly.

 

Oh, yes, it was still living and with more vigor than before. Last night, there were random claps from Kevin as he tried to smash it between his hands and lots of flailing arms from me as I continued to try my knock-him-unconscious plan.

 

This morning, I got the victory text.

THE BEAST IS DEAD! Let’s kill the fatted calf and celebrate!