I have other things to post . . . but I think some levity is called for, so . . .
A random post about flies. And how SOMEHOW just ONE always manages to be somewhere in your house. And how you can have a 1,300 square foot house, but wherever you are - the fly is. He's not content to fly around the other 1,295 square feet of unoccupied space. No, no. He wants to be buzzing around your face, crawling on your leg, landing on your hand, always moving just quickly enough that you can't smack him. But the ALMOST smack of him is not a deterrent. He just lands right back on you 12 seconds later.
He comes at you when you least expect it. When you’re at your happiest and most content. Generally, he attacks when you’re finished with work for the day and just sitting quietly by yourself, writing a blog entry or relishing in being able to do nothing and not feel guilty about it. They especially love to annoy you when you're attempting to sleep. Those peaceful little afternoon naps. That's when they move in for the money shots. Directly on your cheek, your forehead, your chin. They get brave and think "Oh! A face! There could be some food crumbs there!" And they buzz in for the kill.
Unfortunately, their blasted multi-faceted eyes serve as an amazing warning system. And instead of turning the Fly into an icky spot that must be removed with copious amounts of soap and water, you end up with a sore cheek and some finger prints because you were SO determined to kill his little annoying butt this time that you put your weight into the hit - not caring that you were going to injure yourself, because it was worth it to see the fly's demise. But the fly, yet again, is the victor. And you’re left with a red cheek, a sore palm and feelings of inadequacy because you couldn’t even kill a tiny fly.