Bugged

 I was listening to a playlist in my car when I noticed two houseflies having sex on top of the dash. I may bear some responsibility for this. Charlie Puth and Meghan Trainor were singing, ‘Let’s Marvin Gaye and Get it On,’ and I fear it was too much for them. One meet-cute and they decided to go all the way. (A Parents of Boomers expression.)

I’ve had some interesting times with bugs lately. When a small fly landed on my computer, I watched as it walked along the entire surface. Peeking over the edge, it dipped a leg over, then changed its mind. And that’s when I realized I was ready to talk.

“Is this scary?” I asked the fly. “It’s the length of your body…quite a jump. But aren’t your feet sticky?” At that question it looked up at me and then flew off. And I realized how much I’d enjoyed our one sided conversation. But I’ve been known to converse with my coffee table when I bang into it. (Remember my eye situation?) I’ll say, “Watch where you’re going!” I realize that the table is stationary, but pain makes me unreasonable. 

There are other things that bug me, so please, allow me to unload. A real pain in my…well, not my feet, because I’m too sensible, are high heeled dress shoes. Especially those worn by female TV FBI agents as they chase down a suspect. Meanwhile, her partner, a man, wears a sensible pair of tactical boots. Now, I’m fairly certain that in real life, a female FBI agent would not be tottering after a serial killer in a pair of spikes. This is why I’m unable to watch The Devil Wears Prada 2. Because I despise silly fashion. I’m writing this in my living room beside my cowering coffee table, wearing comfy sweatpants and a  black and red cotton flannel shirt. In this outfit I can either head to Walmart or chop down a tree. I’m ready for anything.

Aside from discussions with inanimate objects and bugs, I have a practical side. Everyone likes a home makeover, but when I watch someone destroying a kitchen because it needs updating, I say to myself, and possibly my coffee table, this is  what’s wrong with the world! This need to have new fixtures, new clothes, new…well, whatever. What’s wrong with the things you already own? You know what helps fix this situation? A trip to the dump.

I took some things there today. Three broken butter churn dashers, ( my father in law was an old timey farmer) an old outboard boat motor (a man took it from me happily) and some blankets that had been stuffed in a wet barrel. Yuck. And old camping pots that were so bent and stained, I didn’t think they could be saved. (I tried. No luck.) 

What I saw that surprised me were the still useful castoffs, like heavy duty metal patio chairs with no cushions. Nothing wrong with them at all, but I already have a set. There were some pop up chairs that weren’t broken but had been stained by their proximity to other garbage. The only living creatures at the dump having a terrific time were the gulls and the squirrels. I’m not sure when squirrels began spending time there, but they ran in every direction with the strangest things in their mouths. One carried a large plastic chip, like something from a children’s kitchen. “Hey!” I hollered. “You can’t eat that!” That’s when I realized that the thing bugging me was me.

The list is longer, but this is enough for now. In honour of this post,  here’s that ‘it’s so sexy, flies wanna do it’ song.