Alien Fruit Flies.

Or why my wife should talk to George Lucas.

Image by Anja from Pixabay

“Every absurdity has a champion to defend it.” Oliver Goldsmith

As much as I try to understand my wife, sometimes she’s a little too out there — even for me. The other day she decided fruit flies are aliens. I’m sure this came after many seconds of serious and intense deliberation. Still, I’ve lived with her long enough to know her explanation will be entertaining if not completely freakish.

“How do you explain this,” she said the other day, trying to crush another fruit fly between her palms. “See?” she said. “They disappear right into thin air. They must be aliens.”

I tried to explain that smacking her hands together vertically sends them skyward by the updraft. If she slapped her hands together horizontally, the fruit flies would go headlong into a wall. I pointed to one wall that could stop a fruit fly no trouble at all.

Based on my theory, the walls must be a graveyard of fruit fly carcasses. Only she didn’t find any.

She wasn’t buying it. Based on my theory, the walls must be a graveyard of fruit fly carcasses. Unfortunately, she didn’t find any. Which brought her back to alien fruit flies again, this time explaining their entry into the…