Murder, She Wrote

A few weeks ago we harvested our generous tomato crop, set the produce inside the house and left town. Upon our return, a problem emerged in a very literal way. As I stepped into the upstairs bathroom, a cloud of fruit flies mistook me for a rotten banana and swarmed like a death cloud. “Fruit flies in the bathroom!” I gasped to my husband.

‘Uh huh,’ he said, not looking up from his magazine.

“Seriously, we’re being overrun. They must have come in with the tomatoes.”

Not drawing a smidgen of interest, I asked myself several questions. Why the bathroom? Why not the dining room, or even the kitchen? I hadn’t left any fruit out, the garbage had been emptied. There was truly only the tomatoes to feast on. Yet the flies clung to the bathroom like those creepy, haunting children in horror movies. Not that I’ve seen them. I’m way too chicken for that.

First, I tried to lure them with a cheap solution: apple cider vinegar. A few flies went for it, but most just danced around my head. Obviously a bigger sacrifice was required. Opening a bottle of red wine, I poured several glassfuls and placed them strategically around the bathroom. Over the next few days, the flies began to drown themselves. The trick was to not reward them with wine streaking the sides of the glass. They had to swoop down so the intoxicating smell could lure them to their deaths.

Every time I do something like this, I find myself thinking, dear God, don’t let reincarnation be true. Because then, I’m a serial killer. I find myself whispering, ‘Grandpa, is that you?’ when I see a fruit fly trying to swim for it. That’s the problem with being a writer. No scenario is too implausible. I have mixed feelings about killing bugs, anyway, except for mosquitoes. When carrying a spider out of the house I’d say to my kids, ‘When they take over the world, they’ll remember their friends.’ (Note to self: a crying four year old does not understand this kind of joking.)

Anyway, back to the mercenary task at hand. We were so overrun, it took a whole bottle of wine to do the job. When there are too many dead floaters, the other fruit flies catch on, so you have to keep refreshing their drink. I tried placing the glasses in certain spots, but kept them away from the toilet for reasons stated in a previous blog; I don’t like interruptions to my mini-vacation and reading time.

It’s important to use a drinking glass instead of a wine bottle, because people have been known to accept the open bottle invitation and take a swig. On the other hand, it’s another way of letting your partner know that fruit flies are a problem.

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