October 14, 2009
Dying for a Swim
The other afternoon I was trying to enjoy a quiet lunch on the patio with my wife, Loa. Meanwhile some flies, I suppose exercised over the changing weather that would spell their doom with the coming cold, and the chance for a penultimate meal, had descended on us. It wasn’t quite like the Egyptian plague recorded in Exodus but they descended in larger numbers than usual.
One fly in particular kept buzzing Loa and threatening to land, dirty feet first, on her asparagus and cheddar quiche. After much waving him away he settled on the lip of her class of Chardonnay.
Then he took a dive. Ahhh… There’s nothing quite like taking a swim… in vino. He paddled about, doing the breast stroke. I can only imagine what he thought. (Do flys think? My fantasy demands they do.)
His sad end came when we refused to rescue him. Are there some perverse lessons here? Hmmm. It did prompt another look in Alice’s mirror