No fly zone

Mother Nature can be a real Mother F*cker sometimes.

I just wanted to relax today, to de-stress after  watching the somber 9/11 coverage.

 The bagpipes and violins always get me. 

So does the waterfall and its gentle rhythm.

So does the footage played over and over. 

But then I hear these loving family members  struggle to contain their emotions while attempting   to read last  names with either eight or nine syllables (or three or four  single syllables of a   first, middle, and  last   name that  all sound like bodily functions) and I'm Mary Richards, trying to suppress a laugh when Chuckles the Clown bit the dust.

I enjoyed a nice little breakfast with a wonderful iced coffee and a challenging crossword puzzle in the diner today, something I like to do after a long overdue  waxing and/or pedicure.

All I wanted to do was come home and take a nap, but this effin' FLY had other ideas.

I don't know if it was attracted to the smell of the wax or the nail polish or both, but it landed on every part of me..including the freshly waxed lip and the freshly painted big toe. 

 And it did so LOUDLY, even TAUNTINGLY.

RELENTLESSLY.

  (It might have been a relative of the one who landed on Mike Pence's head three years ago)

It drove me from room to room and it would NOT let me nap!

 There was no way I wasn't going to kill that little asshole..except..it wouldn't let me!!

I finally had to go outside.  

Kicked out of my own house by a... 

...fly!

I sat outside just long enough to get some maddening mosquito bites and to be chased back in by menacing thunder..and then the FLY is more aggressive than ever!

So I didn't nap, or swim, or do anything other than scratch  new insect  bites and try to slay  that Evil Sultan of Swat..

Oh..and the chickens were out, but on their side of the chain link fence. 

 They are HUGE. 

 Each one looks like she could fill up a roasting pan for Thanksgiving dinner. 

 Luke barked his little poodle  head off at them, but apparently, they can't fly over here anymore because each had her wing clipped.

Just one wing apiece, but now they kind of wobble and look like me when I try to walk two feet in Manolo Blahniks.

This is not cruel, by the way. It apparently keeps them safe from rabid poodles and vengeful flies. It keeps them home, where they get fresh  blueberries and a heated coop.

She told me she learned how to clip them gently and effectively by asking someone in the neighborhood..who owns FIFTEEN chickens.

FIFTEEN to TWENTY chickens on this quiet, tree-lined suburban street.

I had no idea that Jim drugged me and moved me to Hooterville while I was unconscious, but evidently, he did.

I know!

Maybe I'll just clip ONE WING off that damn fly....I don't care if it hobbles for the rest of it's twenty-four-hour miserable life, I want my vengeance and I want my nap.