In the decade-plus we've been having these weekly print conversations, I've rambled about some weird things
In the decade-plus we’ve been having these weekly print conversations, I’ve rambled about some weird things, many would even label “silly.” Until today, a very old column of mine on the subject of spitting was likely the weirdest.
In the dim past, I’d decided to chew tobacco for reasons which have long since escaped me. However, the experiment didn’t last but a day because I couldn’t spit. I could dribble and splatter but couldn’t eject a glob with pinpoint accuracy and enough force to kill or disable a small animal, like my father in-law could.
Mr. Jacobs put Josey Wales to shame. If local authorities knew of his spitting power they might’ve required him to get a carry-permit for his wad of Levi Garrett. So having witnessed first-hand “quality” spitting, I threw my remaining chaw away to avoid messy embarrassments.
Now to the current weird subject at hand. This column is about the common housefly, not to be confused with the Jeff Goldblum movie, “The Fly.”
Most of these southern summer evenings find my wife Ann and me sitting on our patio enjoying dusk, accompanied by a glass of wine and chips. I don’t know if “our” flies like the wine or food or both, but during this season there’re always a few buzzing around, trying to land on our glass rims or the salsa dish.
It doesn’t take many to irritate you; and even one single fly can be so very annoying like Obama or Hillary speaking. I can turn off the television, but our defense against a fly isn’t as simple. We cope by covering glasses between sips and standing guard with the ever-ready flyswatter.
Years ago we bought fly paper, a sticky coil that supposedly trapped flies. We suspended it over our table and nothing happened. Nothing. Either the sticky stuff didn’t appeal to “our” flies or they were fly paper savants smart enough to avoid its grasp.
So last week Ann and I were in Lowes and passed a display box of fly traps. I snagged one figuring it wouldn’t be the first time I’d wasted a few bucks but was worth a try. Who knew, it might help.
Did I say “help?” This thing is freaky amazing. Instructions say unscrew the top and lift it out as far as it goes. Then they said to fill with water to the line.
I couldn’t figure out how the water was supposed to get inside, but I ran it under the faucet and sure enough water got through. In retrospect and examination, the water dribbled in the same holes flies were expected to enter.
We hung it on the patio and watched to see if it worked. May I say it worked so well it was creepy?
Flies abandoned their wine and salsa snack opting for whatever stuff was inside this gizmo. Needless to say I went back to Lowes and bought a handful of these contraptions. It’s so nice to find something that works beyond expectations. It has no brand label. It just functions. Wow.
I can’t close without asking what you call a fly with its wings pulled off.
Otis Gardner can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.