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.