It’s 9:30 p.m. on a Tuesday night, and I’m standing at the bathroom sink, brushing my teeth, minding my own, when I hear it. Bzzz. BzzZZZZ. Bzzzzzz. A fly the size of a small town flies around my head, nearly nipping the end of my toothbrush in its pilgrimage to late-night annoyance. My body is still but my head is on a pendulum, swinging diagonally, frantically in a futile attempt to find a pattern in the fly’s course. Scott strolls in to pee and I blurt out “fly” through the growing mound of toothpaste suds sitting on my tongue. He shrugs and unzips his own fly, starts talking about the latest news of the day. I don’t hear him. I am consumed with the thought that this giant, buzzing fly will make its way into my adjoining bedroom and stalk me all night long with sounds of buzzing far and near. Scott re-zips and leaves the room, staring at me like a crazy person. I think about it for a second, then instinctively grab the hand towel next to the sink and flick it at the fly in despair. As the towel comes away I am wildly pleased to see a thick trail of fly paste left in its wake. Success! And on my first try! I run out of the bathroom and grab Scott, who is now in the living room doing something much less important than killing a monstrous fly. I take his hand, toothbrush in mouth, and lead him into the bathroom, where I jump up and down, pointing with glee. He rolls his eyes in disappointment and lectures me on the inappropriate use of our fancy hand towel. I spit out my toothpaste and make a grand argument on the dexterity it took to pull off such an endeavor. He should be impressed and pleased at my ninja-like fly-killing skills! As we stand in debate, I begin to look for the fly remains and discover the carcass perched on our three-year-old toilet brush. Astonishment. Pointing. Laughter. Negotiation. I win, and Scott picks up the lifeless body with a wad of toilet paper, flushing it down the toilet with the pee that he had left sitting from his earlier visit. As the water swirls down I make the sign of the cross and we hug, crawling into bed giggling. This is married life.

Advertisements