An unholy battle commenced today with a fruit fly, perniciously smuggled in with the bananas last night in my grocery delivery. 

All day I yelled and cursed at it and attempted, over and over, to smash its life into oblivion. 

It skittered away, this way and that, weaving itself through the air, taunting me with its very existence at least once every five minutes. 

And I became enraged, for it knew not its place. 

And I became murderous, for it deserved extermination.

This fruit fly was a real jerk. I could sense its glee at being a trespasser and harasser of women. Woman. Me. 

I refused to take this persecution sitting down. Except I was sitting down the whole time nearly, because I was working at my desk, but the truth doesn’t matter in dire times such as these.

And I’d like to report that, though the enemy was indeed formidable and it was a near and anxious thing for many hours, at the end of the day, the good guys won. 

They had on their side true justice and humanity. 

Like, literal humanity: I’m a human and it’s a fruit fly and sucks to be smashed, doesn’t it? 

Almost as much as it sucks to be annoyed by a buzzing, flying insect, you pompous, self-important, banana-trespassing jerk. 

So you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you, Monsieur Fruit Fly? 

You won’t do THAT again, will you? 

No, I thought not, sir.

I hope I condemned you to hell, sir. 

And as you moan and wail in your buzzy, fruit-flyish ways while burning in the demonic fires, I hope you remember who put you there and you cry out in agony, cursing the day you disrespected Suzanne Sapira. 

For that was the day of your death, sir.