Two flies have brazenly invaded my kitchen. Puzzling. I leave no food out, clean up all crumbs and spills. It is the same two flies every day, I'm sure of it. Sometimes they will land on my table and remain motionless until I swat at them, missing of course. They sense my reflexes are shot.
I have a 25 year old can of insect spray that is so ineffective I can hear the flies laughing at me. They are small as flies go. Not terribly attractive. Maybe they've been ostracized by others. Or, scarily, maybe they smell something about me that indicates near death. Illness, a wasting away.
I much prefer ants, who go about their business, crawling along, oblivious to their surroundings. I seldom squash them anymore. Understand, I'm talking maybe six ants, not thousands. That would call for multiple carpet bombing of spray and hammer.
I hate when one of these flies lands on my head and I impulsively smack it. I'm giving myself a headache. I should think about shutting the window or putting up a screen. That would require expertise. I'm just a writer.
No comments:
Post a Comment