These here are from the 4:00-4:15pm slaughter.
We have lived in our house for three summers. For three summers we have welcomed swarms of The Flies From Hell into our home for a very confusing two-week period.
These aren't your everyday normal house flies. These flies are large, appear drunk and have big red eyes that peer into the depths your soul. They have no regard for self-preservation and will actually fly right onto the swatter in some sort of masochistic suicide attempt. Yesterday one snuck up behind me, landed on my shoulder and whispered "got any peanut butter?" right before I smashed its ass.
They've gotten so out of control that I just swat them and leave their little carcases heaped in a mass grave by the couch, carting their lifeless bodies to the trash can every 15 minutes.
Or maybe that's just because I'm really lazy. I actually do the same thing with chicken bones.
This year, though, the flies have taken it to the next level. On Friday afternoon I was swatting at a super jumbo one on our office wall. As I went in for the kill I realized it was actually two flies who appeared to be dry humping and, shocked and nauseated and trying to turn my head from the insect atrocity, I accidentally hit our Internet modem knocking out our service until a tech could get out here two days later.
Then on Saturday Nick went down to the basement to read his nudey mags, AKA start some laundry when he noticed a whole mess of them on the wall. His gut reaction was to pour an entire container of bleach on them, sweep them up, and dump them down the sink.
This wouldn't be the first time that Nick's gut reactions have required the assistance of a plumbing professional.
The next day after I actually started the laundry I heard what sounded like someone peeing on the basement floor. Which wouldn't normally be unusual but Nick was at work. Upon inspection I found that the laundry sink had clogged and the basement had flooded.
I texted Nick.
"Did you put something down the basement sink? It's clogged."
"I found a bunch of flies down there."
"Were they from the mouse in the trash can?"
(did I mention that the heater cleaner guy found a mouse in our heater and put him in the trash can three months ago?)
"I don't think so. They were on the opposite wall."
"What else did you put down there? It's really clogged."
"Just some small debris - nothing that should have clogged it. Use the plunger."
If I know what's attractive - and I think I do - it's a 5-months-pregnant woman standing in ankle deep water plunging a bunch of dead flies out of her laundry sink.
As I plunged and cursed and plunged and cursed some more, and pieces of what I can only guess used to be a pizza box floated to the top, the object of my frustration slowly shifted from the flies to my husband.
Who is a lot harder to kill.