Yesterday (Saturday, please note) I was at work the whole day for a conference. Before I made my weary way home, I stopped off to water my plants. I swore at the flies, watered and then left.
What with the walk, the missed train, the wait at the station, and the journey, I was travelling at least an hour an a half.
When I got home and looked in the mirror, there was a fly on my face. A squashed dead fly on my face, like some kind of mole or somewhat unbeautiful beauty spot. OR fly freckles, fly measless, a fly zit? It was one of the disgusting tiny scarid flies that have been plaguing my poor plants for the last few months.
Apparently my face is more effective at fly destruction than the numerous fly papers which they refuse to get trapped in, the insecticide, and the nematodes which are supposed to eat their vile progeny.
The effing flies have wised up to the fly papers and now they don't even fly. They just sit there. They are not even flies, they are sits.
I have never seen the point of flies, I mean, they don't even eat flies, as Eddie Izzard would say. But what could be the point on this earth of a sit? These are flies on the dole.
So I wore the fly in public for an hour and a half. Fantastic.
So I wore the fly in public for an hour and a half. Fantastic.
No one said anything. How could they? How do you say to someone, "Um, you appear to have a dead fly hanging from your face" and allow for any modicum of dignity for yourself or the poor insectly-afflicted person?
Fuck you flies, you are going down. Even if I have to vacuum up each of you individually, as my boss did one afternoon.
Fuck you flies, you are going down. Even if I have to vacuum up each of you individually, as my boss did one afternoon.
Apologies to any Zoologists (Helen) or insect lovers. Helen, you need some lizard food?
