Friday, July 11, 2025

No Fly Zone

We've all seen the videos. The bear that breaks into a cabin in search of leftovers. The startled deer that takes a detour through a bank lobby. The bull running amok in a china shop. (Okay, I've never seen the bull in a china shop video, but I hear they are rude to the employees and reckless around the breakables.)

Then there’s the case of the uninvited house fly. While videos of this invasive species in action are rare, many can attest to the chaos and trauma they cause. It happened to me last week on what seemed like just another quiet night at home. I was sitting on the sofa watching TV when I felt something on my leg. To my stunned disbelief a fly had landed on my knee and was staring in the general direction of my head as if to say, “What are you going to do about it?” 

Snapping out of my shock, I unleashed a swift and blinding slap to my knee that only a battle-tested house fly could evade. Turns out he was battle tested. He evaded. My adrenalin surged as I stood up and braced for the next encounter.

“We have a fly in the house!” I yelled to my wife in another room.

“Oh no, how’d he get in here?” Sherry shot back.

“I’m guessing a fake ID and help from relatives.”

“Do you think it was when we were bringing in groceries from the garage,” Sherry ventured.

“Or that,” I conceded.

I felt a buzz near my ear and swiped at the sound, smacking myself on the side of the head. Oh, so this is how we’re playing it, you little creep. Go on the aggressive and baffle me with bold assaults to my head and body while I search for the fly swatter. Come to think of it, I don’t think we have a fly swatter anymore. Our old one splintered into pieces after numerous missions in fly-invested territory.

I rolled up a batch of junk mail from our kitchen island and scanned the room. The granite countertop made it hard to detect surface debris or loitering insects, but suddenly I saw him cooling his wings a mere four feet away. Executing the limber lunge of a much younger man, I lifted my arm and struck down with a precision force that only a field-savvy house fly could escape. Turns out he was field savvy. He escaped.

“Any luck?” Sherry asked nervously, looking for signs of property damage.

“Not yet. But my hand-eye coordinating is getting better with every hit,” I boasted. “There will come a moment when he lets his guard down and the last thing he will see is a fistful of junk mail and my victorious glee.”

“Just don’t break anything,” Sherry pleaded.

“You mean like his will to live?

“I mean like the nice things we own.”

An eerie calm fell over our house under siege as several hours drifted by. I searched room by room, ready to take the fight to the fly who entered our private air space and taunted me with a landing on my leg. How had he succeeded in eluding me, time and time again? Did he feel the draft of my attack coming as my hand swept through the air? Should I have distracted him by wiggling an outstretched hand in one direction and coming in for the strike with the other hand? Should I have clapped above him, causing him to become disoriented and fly up toward my hands for an easy capture? So many questions, so little clarity.

That night, as I got ready for bed, I heard a buzz near my ear and knew what I had to do. I slammed the bathroom door shut and grabbed the small roll of paper towels I keep under the sink. 

“It’s just you and me now,” I muttered under my breath. “And only one of us is leaving this bathroom alive.”

I issued a series of rapid-fire wallops as he skirted along the vanity counter and mirror. A couple grazed his wings, sapping his propulsion. He retreated into the shadowy corners of the shower with me and my paper towels in hot pursuit. A clever reverse flight move gave him a last hurrah as I got tangled in the shower curtain, but there was no way out. I finished the job and flushed away my vanquished foe.

“We are finally fly free,” I announced to Sherry as I climbed into bed a few minutes later.

“Oh, wonderful!” She gushed. “Thank you for taking care of that.”

“It was a knock-down, drag-out fight, but I wasn’t letting that little bloodsucker win,” I asserted. 

“Wait… did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That buzzing sound – something just whizzed by my head,” Sherry pointed out. “Fly number two?”

“Oh crap, I hope they’re not related,” I sighed. 

“Let’s buy a fly swatter in the morning,” Sherry suggested.

“Good idea. In the meantime, try not to sleep with your mouth open.”

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