It's My Life: Tina Comeau
Tina Comeau of the Yarmouth Vanguard writes a weekly column called It's My Life that looks at the lighter side of family life.
I had to shake my head.
Did I really just do that?
Did I honestly just open the door and say, “Come this way?”
Here I thought they were just bugging me when maybe instead they were driving me batty.
I once read a quote that said, “If you think you’re too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito.”
That incessant buzzing in your ear.
This time, however, it wasn’t a mosquito. And I wasn’t trying to sleep. But I had some bugs in my house. For argument’s sake let’s call them horseflies, which they may or may not have been. I’m no bug expert.
All I know is I had half a dozen of them flying around my kitchen. Whizzing past my head. Crawling on stuff. Yuck.
As much as I hated them, though, I was sympathetic to their plight. Or, I guess, I was sympathetic to their flight.
I figured they probably wanted out of my house as badly as I wanted them out. And it wasn’t there fault they couldn’t get out.
So I was willing to give them a chance before I hauled out a fly swatter or sticky fly paper.
I opened the patio door and the front door so they’d have some escape routes. And to urge them along I found myself yelling, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
I was even shooing them towards the open doors. But to no avail.
No offence, but these flies were really stupid.
They would fly near the door, but not out of it. I was like, “Hello? Do you not see the opening that is two-and-a half-feet wide and eight feet tall?”
A few minutes later my son came into the kitchen, found me talking to the flies, and asked, “What are you doing?”
I explained I was trying to get the bugs to go outside. Ignoring the fact I was having conversations with them, he said, “Yeah, but more will probably fly inside while you have the doors open.”
He had a point, but as of yet I hadn’t seen that happen so I continued. Besides, the only bugs that were flying back inside the house were the ones that had just flown out of the door. Out they went and before I had a chance to shut the door behind them in they flew again.
“You’re so stupid!” I yelled. I was talking to the bugs, although I might as well have been talking to myself.
Still, I was somewhat successful in my mission. I managed to get three of them out of the door. Two others, I’m sorry to say, fell victim to the swat of a dishrag. I couldn’t help it. I was at my breaking point.
I tried to cox the last one out.
“Come this way,” I said, holding the door open, in somewhat the same tone I use when I’m talking to my cat.
Eventually I gave up and went outside to sit on my deck and read a book. As I opened the screen door to go outside I noticed there were three flies on the exterior of it.
I was confused.
Are these the same flies?
Do they want back in?
As I sat in my chair reading I had flies buzzing around me. “Seriously?” I thought to myself. “I’m not doing anything to bug you, can’t you return the favour?” For a moment I wondered if the fly population had turned on me because of the dishrag incident from earlier.
I read for about an hour and then went back inside. There was still one fly on the exterior of the patio door screen. “If you’re here to help your friend, forget it,” I said. “He doesn’t want anyone’s help.”
I went into the kitchen and saw the lone fly that was left in my house lying on the floor. It wasn’t buzzing around anymore. In fact, it looked tired, defeated and still stupid.
It would have been so easy to squash it but instead I picked it up with a paper towel and carried it outside. I placed it on the step and told it, “Okay, fly away.”
Finally someone is listening to me.
It gave me some sense of satisfaction while I drove to town to buy fly paper.
My sweet talking days are over.