That's really putting it mildly. Imagine Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds", only with flies instead of birds. It's just like that.


We have a doggie door insert in our dining room that sits between the door jam and the door. Only it doesn't sit flush so there's a gap at the bottom of the door.

This has, in the past, been filled with foam weather stripping. Only Logan, our lard bucket extraordinaire, has torn the weather stripping out in chunks on the the nights that the doggie door is closed and he desperately wants to get out.

This is not a particularly good look for our dining room.

Logan, giving up on life

I had asked Brad for several weeks to put up plastic weather stripping around the door because we were getting a bunch of flies in the house but you know how men are: Whatever you ask them to do is the last thing on their list of priorities.

I had to go buy a fly swatter as our fly problem was getting out of hand. And I kept bugging (no pun intended) Brad to put up the plastic stripping. It finally took me threatening to put dead flies on his dinner before he finally put the stripping in place.

But now there are flies EVERYWHERE in our house. And I'm swatting and swatting and swatting.

I've swatted so many flies, I swear I see fly carcasses where there aren't any.


That little crumb of burnt toast looks like a fly. That piece of black lint on the floor looks like a fly. That raisin and that pebble look like flies.


I'm lying. Our kitchen is not that messy. (I may be lying about that, too.)

Tonight, I was washing dishes and I saw a fly buzzing about so I swatted it. And the carcass landed in the sink. On top of the flatware that needed to be washed.

Ugh! Great, I thought. Couldn't it have landed elsewhere? But I was determined not to be thwarted by fly carcass. I turned on the water, figuring I'd wash the body down the drain and I could continue to load the flatware into the dishwasher. I saw no fly body so I picked up a handful of flatware and as I was putting them in the dishwasher, I felt something on my finger.



And I instantly panicked! I could feel all the typical fight or flight responses: my field of vision narrowed, my heart rate increased, my mouth went dry, I felt tingly all over.


I almost screamed.

I furtively looked down at my finger as I was getting ready to shake it in a jerky, frightened fashion, not daring to look at what I inevitably knew was there.d
Kind of like a bad car accident, where you don't really want to see it and yet you can't help but look anyway.

I looked and saw....

....a small piece of gooey wet egg on my finger.

Thank god I didn't pass out. It would have been highly embarrassing to admit that I passed out over fear of egg.

I think it's time to put Brad on fly swatting duty. Let him worry about fly carcasses on his fingers for a change.