fruit fly away

I always believed myself to be a person who loved all creatures, big and small. It’s true…I befriend even the tiniest of ants, carrying them on pieces of paper and hurry to the door in hopes of their lifelong freedom, their quest to the big anthill, or wherever else they choose to roam. Their life surely can’t end at the bottom of my shoe, however cute it may be. Yet, as of late, when I look in the mirror, I see an entirely different face looking back at me. Yes. I have become a murderer...of fruit flies. It’s true. And admittedly, it's not even haphazard; it is quite diligent and purposeful. These flying invasions have infested my dear Friend, hovering in swarms around him, pestering his quiet, peaceful life. Not ok. Really not ok.

What’s a girl to do? Save friend. Kill enemies. Any way you can. What other choice do I have? And thus an assassin was born.

Various methods you may wonder: Swatting, (ineffective, though gratifying), apple cider vinegar—pft. Home remedies have proven minor leagues for these buggars. To the Garden Nursery I wandered. Here is where I was met face to face with another one of mine foes…GASP….chemicals. Indeed I did (arm twisted) buy non-organic and use in my home. What one will do for a friend in need (to which, I have applied with no avail). Last option: repotting.

I am part Italian, but my doing-away-with-the-fly’s skills seem to be lacking in quelque chose. Ah French, so much for the Italian. 

For now, I do what I do best, love. That's me anyway. Love him…yes, a plant, whose name is simply, Friend…put him out in the sunshine on beautiful days, hum to his leaves, and maybe, just maybe violently slaughter a fly or two in eyesight.