Swatting

The buzzing horror is drawn to the only source of light in the room. I’d like to think it’s my brilliant mind or, at the very least, my radiant smile. But it’s the ceiling lamp in the living room. Rising to the challenge presented by the deafening humming, I go and get the fly swatter.

With jumps, spins and dynamic throws, I attempt to unnerve the fly. Now I know how rhythmic gymnastics originated. However much I wave my arms and skip up and down, my artistic and technical shortcomings force me to resort to different tactics: a leotard. My aerodynamic appearance increases both my body control and my sense of rhythm. I daintily prance across the lounge in an effort to scare off the irksome pest or, at the very least, to blind it so I can batter it to death.

Unfazed, the fly settles on the swatter. The pinnacle of audacity. It even winks at me. Thousands of tiny eyes blinking derisively. Wildly gesticulating, I attempt to scare it off. As I raise my arms, I’m thinking...ooh...is that me? I get a noseful. On my left side and my right. Thanks to my endless inability – I mean generosity – I let it live. After all, it’s just following its nose. I put the flyswatter down and go and take a shower.