In what has been described as a ‘beastly trauma’ and ‘utterly infuriating’, that flipping fly has just completed yet another mission straight down your line of sight and around the back of your head, before returning to this afternoon’s base on the rim of the wine glass.
Cunningly choosing unswattable surfaces during the last few days, this particular fly has been dancing along the top edge of your flatscreen TV all morning, taunting you from afar and probably doing that thing with its forelegs where it wipes the sweat off its eyebaubles and flings it in your direction with deliberate disdain.
Oh how that fleeting moment in the first hour of your acquaintance is now rued. There the little smirker was, almost in range and not particularly zig-zagging at pace. But your ham-fisted grab resulted in nothing more than a wholly inappropriate grope of your sister’s stupendous norks.
Now another uneasy relationship has formed, because this fly is a constantly hyperactive one who’s been at something sugary. Yesterday’s coffee-stained wallpaper attests to that: another of many mistimed and misjudged attempts missed the intended target, but caught the mug square and true.
That scurry around the laptop screen two days ago was cheeky. But then zipping down and skipping across the 5, 6, 7 and 8 keys? In that order? OK, Lady Fly, so you want to dance, eh? It’s not just a minor work interruption when the laptop is being boxed to take to the chap who fixes lecky things at that stand in the shopping centre.
And an unknown number of turds previously trampled across before boldly marching all over your afternoon scones? Well, that cakes the biscuit. But what really raises the ire is that with a self-forged access-all-areas pass, suspicion is growing that this flipping fly has been piddling in your ear every night.
If this carnage enters a fifth day, then conspiracy theories will blossom of secret, hidden cameras and a special genre of documentary called ‘The Fly Who Bugged Me.’
Hat-tips to Sinnick and ron cawleyoni