The Battle Of Superfly

My fear of insects is legendary among my friends. Flies, however, I have zero problem killing.

I've been known to stand like a statue with a fly swatter, shoe or rolled up newspaper, poised to strike. I've wielded fly swatters like a Musketeer, chasing the evil flies through the house.

I show no mercy. That is, until one afternoon last summer.

I was in my kitchen, prepping for dinner. My daughter, Elyse, came in and we begin to chat. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of something on the ceiling. I looked up and saw what I thought was a tarantula. We screamed louder than groupies at a Hannah Montana concert and ran out of the room.

Upon somewhat closer inspection, we determined it was a fly. A really, really big fly. Horseflies would bolt at the sight of this monster.

Even though my husband was just downstairs, we knew the ridicule we would face at bringing him up just to kill a fly. Spiders fall into the cute scared woman category. But a fly? We’d never hear the end of it.

We considered calling my son for help, but quickly dismissed the idea. Boy would probably give us a harder time and would likely blackmail us to keep him quiet.  Alone, we had to figure a way to bring this giant down.

We began to weigh our options. Although I own at least 20 fly swatters, we couldn't find one to save our collective lives. So I decided upon a slipper as a substitute. I presented it like a trophy to my equally insect-challenged daughter.

Then, we looked at each other. Who were we kidding? Neither one of us had the guts to swat King Kong. We had to form a new plan. Either way, we knew we had to prepare for the fight.

We steeled ourselves for the upcoming “battle” and decided to hunt for Raid. Unfortunately, if I had it, it would be under the sink in the kitchen. As Elyse stood guard (if you can call cowering behind the fridge “guarding”), I did my best imitation of Rambo, zigzagging to the sink, searching frantically for the non-existent Raid.

The monster must have seen me, as he flew from the corner of the room to directly above the kitchen island. I was alerted to this turn of events by the sound of Elyse’s terrified, “AAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!” This, again, sent the two combatants running into the living room.

I remembered that I’d read that if you sprayed hairspray on an insect, at the very least, it would paralyze it. We were out of options. With the weapon firmly ensconced in my trembling hand, we deftly crept into the kitchen.

I fired. Just as I did, the horrifying thought entered my mind, the paralyzed fly was directly over my food-laden island. It began its’ almost slow motioned descent as we looked on in horror. Then, just as it almost reached the food, it miraculously began to fly. Faster than a speeding bullet and with the grace of charging elephants, we took off again.

Now, this is where the story gets even dumber (if that’s humanly possible at this point). We closed the door and breathlessly I yell, “It’s really mad, and it knows who we are!!”

I hate to admit it, but I really did this. I used my body to barricade the door.

What was I thinking? Did I think the hairspray was radioactive and “Superfly” was outside, preparing to break down the door?

After we had somewhat composed ourselves, we tiptoed into the kitchen. Just then, my other oblivious teenager, Aubrie, walked in and said, “What’s going on down here? I could hear you two over my headphones!”

After we peeled ourselves from the ceiling, we realized that she had to have had the volume up to mind-numbingly deafening levels if she didn’t hear the sounds of the “battle."

Well, I should say, screams from the battle. The fly didn’t make a noise as far as either of us could tell.

After she stopped laughing at the two crazy people, she volunteered to come with us to determine the fate of Superfly. There’s safety in numbers.

Sadly, the search for Superfly revealed nothing, which is not to say it made any of us feel safe. In fact, I cooked dinner that night looking like a drug addict in withdrawal. You know, constantly jerking around to see if it was behind me. I twitched every time I heard a sound. I was the poster child for those, “this is your brain on crack” commercials.

On the bright side, it was a bizarre bonding experiment with my daughters. And we learned that, even if we looked really, really stupid, we still loved and helped each other.

Oh, who am I kidding; they confirmed what they always thought. Their mother is insane. But I know that I can count on them and that’s always a good thing, right? All was right with the world.

Oh, no, it's too early! It can't be. Is that a spider?

ELYSE!

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