I’m Talking To The Flies In My House But I’m Pretty Sure I’m Still Okay
But someone should probably have the butterfly nets ready.
“Your whole family is dead, so you might as well give up.” This is what I said last night, to a fly. The fly and I were locked in my bathroom together, because I had closed the door to trap three flies (“The Bathroom Flies”) I saw zoom in there. I followed them, wearing underwear and a t-shirt, my hair in a ponytail, my face dotted in zit medicine. (I should clarify — because that last sentence is grammatically weird — that I was the one wearing a t-shirt and zit medicine, not the flies. They weren’t wearing anything.) I brought my favorite fly swatter, because I am someone who has a favorite fly swatter now.
I killed two of them really fast. I am proud of my fly-killing skills because I wasn’t just born an assassin. I worked for this. I watched them, and studied them, and figured out the most efficient way to murder them. You wait for them to land, don’t make eye contact (I know this sounds weird because they have a bazillion eyes, but just trust me) and then whack them when they are still on whatever surface they landed on.
That’s how I murdered the first two of the The Bathroom Flies, but the third fly saw the carnage and adapted quickly. He (to be fair, I don’t know this…
