The mother of all flies is in the freezer compartment of my refrigerator…or is it?
Several days ago one of the largest flies I have ever seen checked in to my loft. My repeated attempts to swat it down mid-flight with a tea towel proved fruitless – and only served to agitate the fly into a dive-bombing frenzy, keeping Elvis cowering in the bathroom. I gave up – on both trying to kill the fly and trying to coax Elvis out of hiding.
Tonight, I opened the freezer to pull out something for dinner. Something incredible happened. The fly I’d been chasing around for three days flew inside the freezer. I shut the door, saying “Take that, you disease-harboring, filthy effin’ vermin! Let’s see how quick you are after a half hour in sub-zero temperature.”
Fifteen minutes later (I was impatient) I opened the freezer door, towel in hand ready to strike. I expected to see the fly staggering around numbly. What I saw was nothing. This was unexpected. I moved around the contents of the freezer, looking for the fly’s prostate little body. No fly.
Have you seen The Prestige? I think my freezer must have been built by Tesla.