Fly guy

So there I was, staring down my enemy, prepared for combat. We were locked in a fight of epic proportions. Two entered the cage. Only one would emerge. Then, I heard the door open.
ALLIE: Daddy! I need to go! Get out of the bathroom!
ME: (slamming the door shut) YOU’LL LET THE FLY OUT!
ALLIE: Daaaa-ddy!
ME: There are two other bathrooms. I’M AT WAR HERE!!!!
And so goes my insane fascination with hunting down flies when they enter my house. I refer to myself as a warrior. My wife has several other terms, none quite so noble.
For some reason, when a fly enters the house, I absolutely lose it. I have a set strategy for killing them, which starts with ordering everyone out of the room. I shut off all of the lights, save for the one in the bathroom near the kitchen. Often, I taunt the flies. In short order, they buzz on into the bathroom. Then it is Go time. For the record, I am undefeated. No fly escapes on my watch. With my trusty fly swatter, The Big Green Death Machine, I have vanquished many a fly foe. I even have different strategies. Sometimes, I lie in wait. Other times, I am the aggressor. And other times, I opt for style points, only attempting to take the fly out of midair.
You may think that I am somewhat odd for this ritualistic fly killing I take part in. You would be wrong. For one thing, I have found that several other people – including a certain president of a certain United States of America – are also avid fly hunters. Doubt me? Would U.S. News or Newsweek or Globe or wherever it was I read it lie to you?
But I also have found that it is possibly genetic. I was over at my parents’ house this summer, and we noted an inordinate number of flies zooming around out back. (This may or may not have had anything to do with the beached whale carcass.) Over several visits, we had been fending off flies the old-fashioned way – fans turned on high, newspapers rolled up, and repeatedly pawing at the air while trying to stifle your comments lest the 4-year-old hear them and repeat them.
Eventually, we took the logical step. What’s that you say – did we go inside? Oh, no. That is not the logical step. That is the coward’s step! We went on the offensive. We went shopping. And we armed ourselves with the Big Blue, Yellow and Pink Death Machines. Bring it on, flies.
At first, we simply kept the swatters handy for standard swatting. Fly lands, fly dies. You don’t want to rush into a big fly hunt production until you’re sure everyone is on board. But after a while, it became evident that this was not just for utility purposes. And how did this become evident? Probably when my dad said, “You’re sister’s got more than you.” When you start keeping tabs, it is officially on.
From then on, we became consumed with the flies. Once we had wiped out the flies (or they had gotten the message, as I prefer to think), we actually found ourselves wishing more flies would arrive, which I have to say is a weird place to arrive at.
After a few sessions, simply stalking the flies was not enough. We began to develop rules. Among them:
– Flies on someone’s head are fair game.
– Rule 1 does not apply if Mom is the someone.
– Double points if you hit a fly on your own person.
– Fly on a drink? Just shoo it away (that lesson learned the hard way).
We even began to try trick shots and developed fly-killing jargon. At one point, I was sitting there and one landed on my swatter. I simply said to my dad, “High five.” And he immediately knew what I was talking about. In a flash of blue plastic – WHAP! Fly sandwich. To completely go off the deep end, I have even designed my ultimate fly swatter. (Viking inspired, made from skulls, and shooting fire. It will so rock.)
And in case you were wondering – yes, my wife does sigh. A lot.
Oh, during this very grown-up process, we learned one interesting thing about my son: he can catch flies. We were complaining that there were no flies to sway, and Parker said he’d go get us one. He ran away and came back about 15 seconds later, fist clenched. He opened his hand, and sure enough – out it flew. He did it several more times. Not sure how he did it. I am guessing he picked them off the whale.