Showing posts with label Animals: Home Invasion … Call 911!. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Animals: Home Invasion … Call 911!. Show all posts

August 4, 2020

Home Invasion … Call 911!

What’s on my mind? My totally exciting life (yeah, right) includes the memory-go-round of déja vue. Which is why I’m returning to my topic of almost exactly a year ago, Dial M for Murder!


Opening a door - any door, pick one - leads to recriminations: 


“They got in through the garage! You left the door open!” 


“They came in because our house is dirty!” 


“The house wasn’t dirty until they arrived!”


Although every window in the house is screened, opening one prompts rightful concern. The youngest get past the screens by sneaking through the mesh. Once inside, they establish base camp. Their forces growing by the hour, they copulate at night. 


As you will by now have guessed: A battalion of flies has invaded our house. As I wrote a couple of days ago, my Delicate Feminine Instincts permit me to avoid the horrors of the battlefield. I can’t claim to be a conscientious objector on the fly front (“Kill ’im! Kill ’him! Kill ’im!”), but can truthfully say I find the job so distasteful (review Delicate Feminine Instincts) that if it weren’t for Himself, I’d have to hire professional assassins in hazmat suits.


I once saw the “flies in the attic/hazmat suit” technique of fly eradication (“We’re going in …!”). I couldn’t watch as flies were gassed by the thousands in the attic of a house my late husband and I once owned. ’Nuff said.


Earlier this week, I spied an unusual spot of sheen on the dining room table. Looking closer, I began to hyperventilate. Two small, still flies - one of whose iridescent wings fanned over the other’s body - appeared to have been in “the act” when they “passed.” 


(Passed what? Muster? Gas? Go? I hate that euphemism. Why can’t we say they died?


Naturally, I did what any mature, competent woman would do on finding two flies stuck together in flagrante delicto on the dining room table: Screamed bloody murder. Whereupon Himself ran into the room, tissue in hand, and “dealt” with the corpses. Translation: Ran outside to feed them to the fish


The eight other methods of killing flies are:


1. The “dish towel” technique (Himself: “Don’t use that towel for anything.” Me: “Do you think I’d actually use that towel???? I want to burn that towel!”)


2. The “electronic zapper” technique (“It’s 10,000 volts. Baby, you’re gonna fry …”) 


3. The “closed-door” technique (“He can’t escape! I’ve got him trapped …”) 


4. The “poisonous fly spray” technique (“I can’t! I can’t! The environment …”)  


5. The “drinking glass” technique (“He’ll suffocate and die!)


6. The “finger squeezing” technique (“I think I got the little bastard…” Gross. You don’t want to know about the “finger squeezing” technique.”)


7. The “emergency exit” technique (Himself: “Guess what? I opened the door and a fly flew out!” Me: “Guess what? You opened the door and three more flew in!”)


8. And, if all else fails, the “Bates Motel” technique. 


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WtDmbr9xyY&t=72s


Flies are disgusting. They live on a diet of …


(Hey, boys and girls! It’s time for our Question of the Day! Do you know what this disguised four-letter word is? Hint: It has two “o’s” and two “p’s” and flies think its yummy!) 


© Nicole Parton, 2020