When I got home from dropping the car off for a service this morning (#lifeadmin), I was greeted by at least 40 flies lazily hanging out in my lounge. Maybe I’m exaggerating. I don’t know. I don’t care either. It seems like every living fly in the world is currently in my house and they keep landing on me and the other night one landed in my evening glass of milk and drowned and I’m so frustrated I think I might throw something.
Flies are gross. They’re dirty and make me feel dirty and make me think that my house is dirty. I mean, it’s not up to my nana’s standards but it’s certainly not a hovel… usually.
But perhaps the biggest issue I have with the flies in my house is their blatant public sexual behaviour.
Not only are they unwelcome in my home, they’re really giving me the big finger by FLYING AROUND CONNECTED TO EACH OTHER. I don’t know if boy flies have penises but if they do, they must be supernaturally strong. If humans behaved as scandalously as the flies flying around my house are right this very second, they’d be locked up for indecent exposure. (Penis. Just because it’s a fun word to say.)
I want to be a good person and not unleash a full can of fly spray on three flies at a time but sometimes the seething hatred within me is just too much to bear. Other times, the temperature cools down and the flies head back to wherever they live and I wonder if I’ve been imagining it. Then the sun comes out and the flies come back and it makes me question if life is actually worth living or if I should just give up now and let them take control of my house and, go on then, my body.
Flies, I’ve got one thing to say to you. Watch your backs. I’ve just stocked up on more fly spray and I’m feeling very trigger-happy. Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.