We have “a” fly. And I am absolutely certain it’s a demon sent by evil circus clowns to drive me stark, raving mad! I know what you’re thinking….just kill it, right? Not so easy with a devil fly sent by evil circus clowns. So far I have hit myself in the face with a rolled up newspaper, stubbed my fungus toe, and slipped on the wet bathroom floor trying to stomp it. I think my tailbone is bruised.

Yesterday after I put dinner in the oven, I came back here to sweep and mop. A half hour later I went into the kitchen to check on dinner. The oven was off! I turned it back on and came back here to finish my post. When I didn’t smell dinner cooking I returned once more to the oven to see why dinner wasn’t cooking. It was off AGAIN! I turned it back on and started my work in the kitchen. In just a few minutes the (we’ll still call it a fly but you KNOW it’s more than that) landed on the off button. Chloe immediately jumped up to try and catch it. Her paw came down square on the off knob and the fly flew up to the range hood to watch me turn the blasted thing back on again. He was laughing. I’M NOT CRAZY! He was laughing I tell you.

I figured the damnable thing would die from old age by now but it’s been 5 days of him buzzing in my ears at night and landing on my plate when I’m eating. Anything he can do to annoy me he does. It always ends the same. I hunt him, weapon in hand, until “I” get hurt. And it’s not just me. Nobody has been able to kill this thing. Apparently his bitty little fly brain is more developed than ours. And we can’t spray him because it would be bad for Webster. I’m tempted to try and torch him with my grill lighter. I just hope I don’t burn the hair offa my head in the process.



The older I get the less my various body parts want to do anything.    When I first get up from a seated position it takes my back a full thirty seconds to realize we’re standing and straighten itself out.    Of course it’s not “all” my backs fault.   What’s the back supposed to do when it has two feet under it going,  “Is she gaining more weight?   Oh we are NOT gonna carry these thighs all the way into the kitchen. ”   So it’s no real surprise that my bladder has begun to refuse to hold more than a glass of water before she’s all …..”AN ENTIRE GLASS OF WATER?   IS SHE KIDDING ME WITH THIS?”    And of all the rebellious body parts I have the bladder is causing me the most grief.   Why?   Because when it comes to public restrooms….God hates me.   Nothing…nothing…ever goes well for me in a public toilet.


We’ll skip over the time I was using one of the outdoor toilets at the Arts Festival and the first man in a long line of people waiting opened the door to find me sitting there with my chin in my hands.   “That” was a festive moment for the crowd.  Almost as festive as the time a lady literally got down on her hands and knees to look under my stall door to see if someone was in there or the door had accidentally been locked from the inside.   Apparently my feet blended in with the floor too much to be noticeable.   Really?    We will also jump over the time a sweet old lady stepped in front of me at the mall and said,  “Excuse me, dear.   You have toilet paper caught in your underpants.    I looked back and sure enough what must have been an extra, extra,  long roll of  butt tissue had attached itself to my ass and trailed behind me past three stores and coffee shop.   

A couple of days ago while I was fondling strawberries my bladder called up, “YO!   I’m gonna need to eliminate that sweet tea you had…like…NOW!”   So I parked my cart and headed for the restroom because …well,  only an utter fool would try to outwit a rebel bladder.    Important note here….my bladder wants what it wants until you sit down and make it possible.   Then she’s all, “Ohhhh, I dunno.   Let’s wait a couple minutes.”    Which is how I ended up still sitting there when the “Uhhhhh-Oooooh”, lady came in.

Let me preface by saying it is not uncommon to hear a toot or two in the ladies bathroom.   And though occasionally it can be nasally challenging I am not appalled or shocked by such things.   But this day….oh this day was different.    From the moment she sat in the stall next to me I found myself feeling slighting curious because her shoes didn’t match…meaning she was wearing one blue tennis shoe and one white loafer.   No, I am not making this up.   I was just asking myself how a person ends up in two totally different shoes when I heard the first fart.   Normal except, no it wasn’t at all.   Because right after the rectal oration,  she exclaimed, “uhhhhh-ohhhh”.   Who does that?  Understand…the “uhhhh-ohhhhhhh” was clearly an expression of surprised pleasure.  After that there was literally a series of ….brrrrrt…phtttt followed by a  high pitched, “uhhhhhh-ohhhhhhhh.”   Every toot got more vicious and each time the  “uhhhhh-ohhhh”  got higher in tone and more satisfied.

The sounds coming from that stall were so unique that I began to search the ceiling and walls for a hidden camera.   When I didn’t find one I felt an immediate need to flee.    But my bladder was all….”Oh ….my GOD…impatient much?”    The voice inside my head screamed back at her….”work damn you, work!”   Meanwhile next door all hell was breaking loose.   Now the woman was using words like, “oh, finally.   It’s about time.   Where ARE you?”

Where is it?   Seriously?  You don’t know?

I had just decided to leave with or without my bladder’s permission when I heard, “Ok, I’ll call you later.   Bye.”   She was on the phone???    And then….brrrrrrt….phtttt…..”Uhhhhhhh-ohhhhhhh!”   And that’s when another lady entered the restroom.   After listening for a couple minutes what do you think she did?   Go ahead, guess.  That’s right!  She came to “my” stall and asked if I was having a problem.

I have decided from now on it’s, mind over bladder.   I am absolutely,  positively, NEVER NEVER NEVER, using a public restroom again.   There’s some kinda curse on me.  I just know it.   Some horrible hoo doo curse that causes everything to turn to shit any time I step inside a public restroom.   Or…..maybe it just applies to the women’s restroom?   Sayyyyyy, what if I disguised myself as a man?