flies

Here is how to kill a fly. First, do not wait until it is sitting somewhere then try to sneak up on it. Terrible. Get a pair of boxer shorts, fluff them in the general direction of the fly, and get it to fly around. When it's in the air, come down on it hard with the boxer shorts. Then, stunned, it will fall to the ground, where you can pick it up with tissue and flush it.

I know this technique works, because I myself pioneered it last night, quite successfully, on six flies in a row that were in my bathroom.

Six flies in the bathroom sounds like a lot. But it's nothing compared to the eleven flies Catherine and I counted in the bedroom several nights ago. The night before we left on our anniversary trip, we just lay in bed counting the flies. Eleven! The kitchen had at least ten or twelve, the parlor several, the entertainment room several as well. Why so many flies? Flies everywhere! Is there some Pied Piper of flies that can take care of this? (In fact, there is, and Orkin is coming to get rid of the flies as well as the fleas that have reappeared and the forest friends who've moved in recently, one of whom has also apparently died. Maybe that's why the flies are buzzing around.)

We got back from our anniversary trip late Thursday, rested and relaxed from four days (only four days! ach!) in the Hill Country, only to turn around and leave town the next day for Catherine's family's annual seder. When we awoke early Friday, Catherine stepped out of the shower... onto a fly. This apparently was what is called a "tipping point" for her, and she then and there decided to usher all the flies out the window. She went to open a window in the dressing room, and saw this.

Will someone please tell me what on earth is going on.