There’s a big, hairy, buzzing fly in our bathroom who keeps hanging out in the skylight frustratingly out of reach. Todd used to call me Samurai Fly Killer, but I’m afraid I’ve lost my mad fly killing skillz. I was given the name when we lived in our first house and, while always pretty good with a flyswatter, impressed the pants off Todd one particular evening.
Our bathroom was a small, L-shaped affair. Looking into the bathroom you saw the double vanity and mirror which spanned the length of the room. As you walked through the door the wall was on the left and the shower on the right. The toilet was immediately past the shower.
On the night I speak of the lid to the toilet was up (the seat was down because I demand it always be so), the lights were on and the flying behemoth was smacking against the mirror like an angry berserker. My feet apart, knees slightly bent, I wielded the fly swatter in both hands and gently rocked, ready to spring in an instant. I patiently waited at the threshold, willing the pesky insect to come to me.
The annoying pest finally made his break, only to encounter my swatter of doom. Not only did I hit the fly in mid-flight, I threw him back into the mirror at such an angle that he bounced off and fell right into the toilet where I neatly flushed him away. No fuss, no muss. It was very impressive if I do say so myself – which I do.
I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done about the crazy fly trying to escape via the skylight. Instead I’ll just wait for his sad little life to run its course and then vacuum him up when I find him on the floor some day.