Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Today I am grateful for flyswatters. After water aerobics this morning the group sat for bad coffee, weak tea and mindless conversation. A perfect combination, if not for the damned flies.
They were pesky and persistent and annoying and buzzy and loopy and I just wanted them dead. All of them. So I borrowed the flyswatter that was at the check-in desk and set forth to commit murder. For me, killing flies is an aerobic activity, so I got in an extra workout today.
As soon as I put the thing in my hand there were no more flies. Then one landed on someone’s head. I like her so I curbed my swing. Another landed on someone else’s arm, but I didn’t whack it for the same reason. Then one of the pests (fly pest, not people pest) sent the word out that an uncoordinated, spikey-headed, hippy-lunatic was wielding a weapon. So they gathered on the window and frames, frantic to escape through the glass into the pool area. Nice try, pond scum!
Hahahahaha! Gottcha you bastards! One-two-three, just like that. Four-five-six, coffee was covered during my holocaust. Seven-eight-nine, people were ducking rhythmically. Your welcome for your extra workout, too. Ten-eleven-twelve, I had to position myself carefully because the plethora was diminishing. Bam! Thirteen! No! Don’t stop at 13. That’s an unlucky number. Hmmm. . .one more. . .SMACK! Gottcha! 14!
I turned in my fly-swatter. But I have one at home. Now I’m waiting for a call from the networks. I’m sure they will want me to do candidate-control for the next republican debate. I’m ready! SMACK! Take that, you idiots!