There’s a Fly in the House and It’s the End of the World
How we let small things drive us crazy
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It got in when I went outside to feed the dogs. I had been watching carefully to make sure that my exiting was not going to result in its entering. There was something about flies, of the house variety — they are ubiquitous, dipping into everything, and sometimes into things that are not too pleasant to look at. And though I understand their purpose in playing a critical role in the breaking down and recycling of organic matter, I still would prefer that they stayed far away. Plus, living in the tropics, where it's mostly warm and sometimes wet, flies have a smorgasbord of food to choose from. They do not have to hibernate or die in the winter — they come to do their job and they work twelve months of the year.
So imagine my consternation that despite window and door screens to keep them and their friend the mosquito out, a fly or two always manages to get inside the house.
And so, I spent the next 30 to 40 minutes trying to catch it. And each swipe-and-miss I made with the dishcloth, the more distressed I became. I could feel my blood pressure rising, and the benefits of my early morning yoga and meditation going through the window — screen or no screen! At one point, having worked myself into a sweat and a frenzy, I asked out loud, “Why don’t you just fall down dead and leave me alone?”
The blasted fly laughed, “You will have to catch me first.”
I am one who likes to talk about being one with everything — that I am the rock and the tree, the bird and the bat, the flora and the fauna but I refused to be one with that fly — not today.
So it was me chasing the fly and the fly chasing me round and round the room, me sweating and the fly dancing and dodging — acting like a bird and a plane, taunting me, harassing me, torturing me.
I gave up! I was not going to win this one. Apparently, this fly was of the new generation and had developed some brainpower that disallowed it from being caught by any human in a frenzy.
With work to do, time was of the essence, and fly or no fly, it had to be done.
I was soon absorbed in my chores and had quite forgotten about my nemesis. Perhaps, it had found (ugh) some fruit to feed on. There were mangoes on the kitchen counter so I knew that it was wash thoroughly before eating.
The washing machine finished its load so it was time to go outside and hang the clothes on the line. I gathered my laundry basket and gingerly opened the door — remembering the fly in my ointment and not wanting another one inside.
I felt the breeze from its tiny wings when it shot over my head and out into the open again. It hovered by the laundry door, looking at me with me looking at it — brows furrowed.
“So you escaped!” I shouted. “You are lucky.”
The fly chuckled as it began flying in small circles, doing a dip and a wave, pirouetting like a ballerina.
“You were no match for me, Ms. Pretend Zen. Go sit on your cushion.”
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