So, a fly was in the kitchen when I got home. Max (my psychotic, bi-polar, gay dog) was frantically jumping around and chomping while trying to catch it. Eventually, it disappeared. Which is great, because I was convinced he was going to crack open his skull on every sharp object in my kitchen something.
I’m upstairs in my room for 30 minutes when I hear it. The fucking fly. I’m not talking a buzz-around-then-chill-on-the-
I couldn’t take it anymore. I spent 4 minutes jumping around and swatting (the air) with a slipper. Oh, and cracking myself up hysterically. I felt like I was in an episode of Sex and the City or something. The hilariously single girl that is having a fantastic time jumping around her apartment and using a fluffy slipper as a fly swatter. (Ok, I’m wearing a t-shirt and sweats – not quite the Sex and the City neglige wardrobe.)
Conclusion: I killed that loud buzzing, head swiping, dog-freaker-outer, annoying fucker. I feel so much better, but I’m so distracted I can’t do anything.
I think I’m just going to go to bed. I give up for the night.
Sam Siman
Sam works in advertising/marketing by day and moonlights with startup consulting, dating profile overhauls, and event planning. She lives in Columbus with her two dogs and spends her free time writing, drinking coffee and local beers, getting zen with yoga, catching a good concert, and laughing with friends. She doesn't give a shit if you're offended by lewd language, so #dealwithit.