The Gorillas Are Trying to Kill Me

I'm being hunted by flies. And I'm not just talking your average everyday grotesque-but-reasonably-sized housefly. These things are mammoths. They're the size of my thumb nail (and I have giant thumbs) and they sound like weed whackers even from across the room. If Jeremy from Sports Night were to see these beasts, he would deduce that they have some sort of stealth capabilities. And they're following me everywhere. They're on my bedside table when I wake up, dead in mounds on my windowsill when I lift the blinds. They dot the white ceiling like demonic winged stars in an inverted night sky.

One gorilla fly, or approximately
seven normal flies stuck together.

The weather has been uncommonly gorgeous for the past few days, so I've thrown open the windows and doors and welcomed in the fresh, warm air. Unfortunately this also means welcoming in the flies. When I was leaving the house this morning for the library, I passed through the mudroom and glanced briefly into the laundry room as I opened the back door. To my absolute horror, there were literally hundreds of these massive gorilla flies--also known as "the gorillas"--flat up against the windows. Now, I do not mean "literally" like, oh, 75% of the American population when they say inaccurate things like "My heart was literally beating out of my chest" or "I was literally dying of laughter." I mean it in the way it's meant to used. There were literally hundreds of gorillas, and they all wanted to kill me.

Because I couldn't stand the thought of these creatures enjoying the inside of my house for the duration of my errand, I did what I do every summer when we get an infestation of fruit flies: I pulled out the vacuum. Having added the extra-long hose and two stiff plastic tubes to the end, I held the contraption in front of me, like a light saber or Inigo Montoya's sword outside the Pit of Despair, and flipped on the switch. Immediately a thick black plume erupted into the air. Gorillas everywhere. I've never been afraid of flies before--certainly I dislike them immensely and find them to be disgusting nuisances--but at the moment of the Great Gorilla Cloud of 2015, I was legitimately terrified. I actually cowered behind the extension hose in my hand and shut my eyes.

A little slice of hell.

After about fifteen minutes of intense fly demolition, I had cut the population to less than one-tenth what it had been. Satisfied for the moment, I left for the library. I should have known that, while I was away, the flies that remained would call in reinforcements that were even bigger and blacker and nastier than their vacuumed brethren. If the first wave had been gorillas, these were the blue whales of the fly kingdom. I bet they could even breathe underwater.

I know when I've been outsmarted. I lay down the hose and backed slowly into the kitchen, easing the door shut in front of me. I can only imagine what they've done to the laundry room in the hour since. As for me, I intend to never do laundry again. Besides, I'm much too busy cleaning the floor under the dining table, which has become my elderly cat's new favorite litter box.

Best Saturday ever.