About six days ago, a fly flew into the house when we had the door open.Â It has not left.Â It buzzes around, looking for a way out, slamming into windows and hovering around light fixtures.Â Matthew was initially afraid of it — it’s a huge son of a gun — and wanted to have his door closed at night so the fly wouldn’t come into his room.
I did come very close to liberating the poor thing on Thursday, when it flew into the remains of my Trader Joe’s BBQ Chicken Salad container.Â I hastily slapped on the lid and headed, triumphantly, to the front door.Â About two feet away, the lid slipped off.Â The fly escaped from the container and a very choice expletive escaped from my mouth.
But at this point,Â the fly hardly bothers us anymore.Â Matthew keeps his door open at night and at naptime and has been known to say, “Look! The fly!” in nearly delighted tones. Â Â I have to stop myself from setting out a placemat for it at dinner.Â It’s like one of the family now.Â Â One day, we might actually miss it.