I don’t want to grow up.
I don’t want to think about insurance, and a 401k, and heart disease, and my future. I don’t want to get creaky knees. I don’t want to learn how to cook a turkey. I don’t want to make hard decisions, and be the responsible one, and do my own taxes.
I really don’t want to buy a fly-swatter.
For some reason, buying a fly-swatter feels like this very adult thing to do. I’ve never bought a fly-swatter before, because my parents (the GROWN UPS) always had one. True, I have not lived with my parents for almost 8 years now, but somehow I have escaped ever needing one while not having access to one.
I currently have three monstrous, enormous flies in my apartment. They’re huge, and they’re like needy little kids, or puppies, in that when I’m home, they ALWAYS WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME. They buzz and fly and land on my lotioned legs. My lotion must smell good – either that, or I smell like a pile of excrement. I suppose that flies aren’t too picky.
Last night, while reading in bed, the flies hummed around my head. I took my Paulo Coelho paperback and swatted at them a few times, but they couldn’t take the hint. Flies can be so rude.
I have waited a few days, thinking that they might just die in my apartment. But there are enough coffee grounds and banana peels in my trash can for them to live a long and satisfying life. It’s time that I take action.
It’s time to be a big girl. It’s time to buy a fly-swatter, and go on an insect-killing spree. It’s time to defend my house and home.
Everyone has to grow up some time. Unfortunately for the flies, the embracing of my adulthood is going to result in their rather violent demise. They will see my murderous form duplicated over and over in their multi-faceted eyes, and that will be the last thing that they see… and see… and see… before being flattened.
I’m pretty sure that I’ll let out a “HA-CHAH!” too. Because I am a grown up.