So I arrive home from a 45 minute car ride through the hood with two very hungry and cranky kids, no husband and no pacifier to find that my home's been infested with flies. Now I'm no princess. I can handle a fly here or an ant there. It's summer and my house isn't airtight.But I've never encountered anything like this.
Imagine starring in a horror movie like, I don't know, The Fly. Only it's The Flies and you're trying to feed, bathe and put your kids to bed while whacking the evil bastards with all the junk mail, magazines and rolled up newspapers you can find. I killed a lot of flies. Definitely more than 25 and probably closer to 50. My 3 year old killed flies. With her bare hands! ("That's how Daddy does it." Ew.
I talked to my sister on the phone, punctuating our conversation with smacks, whacks and the swishy sweeping up of dead insects. That long distance call cost me $1.50 and 5 more souls.
And yet the job is still not done! I brushed my teeth dodging the five flies that had taken up refuge from my homicidal self, killing one above the tub with one with an Entertainment Weekly. And just think I could be partying at BlogHer right now...
The only good news is that I think I figured out where the flies were coming from and I stopped up the gap between the windows above our window A/C unit. That and Josh is coming home in an hour and has promised me he'll kill any stragglers.
Flickr photo by jpctalbot
