Married people like outdoor living spaces: In my five years of marriage, I’ve learned a thing
or two about my husband. Like the fact that leaving town for a few days means
I’ll most likely come home to a surprise. Women love surprises.
At the end of June, I flew to Florida for a business trip. When I returned to MogLand four days later, my hubby had purchased and assembled (so I couldn’t tell him return it) a screened-in gazebo. He turned our contractor-basic cement pad into a fake sunroom. And I loved him for it.
Mog’s DIY-remodel provides the perfect canopy for reading in the rain. Or daydreaming in the shade. I imagine that many married couples use their outdoor living spaces for entertaining. Or creating the ultimate staycation spot. Unfortunately, our little backyard oasis has become a 10x10 flytrap.
The other night we had company over (and by company I mean my brother), after witnessing Mog in attack-mode, my big bro bragged about the time he chopped a fly in mid-air using a pair of kitchen scissors. Why is it that death-defying flies turn grown men into Mr. Miyagi from the Karate Kid?
Yesterday, Mog killed 10 flies in under 60 seconds. Yes, I counted. Yes, I felt slight remorse for God’s little annoying creatures peppered all over the ground. The booming fly population got so bad that Mog threatened to hang that dreadful yellow sticky tape. But I’d much rather watch him sin, swat and swear than have strips of fly-purgatory hanging overhead. Besides that stuff would clash with our faux-sunroom décor.
I’ll admit it’s fun to be the armchair quarterback whenever Mog reaches for the fly swatter. While I pinpoint the intruders, the puppies cower from the incessant smacking, grunting and downright pleasure that Mog derives from his killing sprees. He shows no mercy for flying insects sans stingers. Yet the second a bee comes within earshot, he will not hesitate to use me as a human shield.
At the end of June, I flew to Florida for a business trip. When I returned to MogLand four days later, my hubby had purchased and assembled (so I couldn’t tell him return it) a screened-in gazebo. He turned our contractor-basic cement pad into a fake sunroom. And I loved him for it.
Mog’s DIY-remodel provides the perfect canopy for reading in the rain. Or daydreaming in the shade. I imagine that many married couples use their outdoor living spaces for entertaining. Or creating the ultimate staycation spot. Unfortunately, our little backyard oasis has become a 10x10 flytrap.
The other night we had company over (and by company I mean my brother), after witnessing Mog in attack-mode, my big bro bragged about the time he chopped a fly in mid-air using a pair of kitchen scissors. Why is it that death-defying flies turn grown men into Mr. Miyagi from the Karate Kid?
Yesterday, Mog killed 10 flies in under 60 seconds. Yes, I counted. Yes, I felt slight remorse for God’s little annoying creatures peppered all over the ground. The booming fly population got so bad that Mog threatened to hang that dreadful yellow sticky tape. But I’d much rather watch him sin, swat and swear than have strips of fly-purgatory hanging overhead. Besides that stuff would clash with our faux-sunroom décor.
I’ll admit it’s fun to be the armchair quarterback whenever Mog reaches for the fly swatter. While I pinpoint the intruders, the puppies cower from the incessant smacking, grunting and downright pleasure that Mog derives from his killing sprees. He shows no mercy for flying insects sans stingers. Yet the second a bee comes within earshot, he will not hesitate to use me as a human shield.
The amazing thing about flies is that they dive bomb for the open door, cruising in on the flow of the escaped air conditioning. That’s why we’ve become accustomed to entering and exiting the gazebo as quickly as possible. Earlier today, I rushed outside, quickly closing the door behind me—per protocol. Only to look up and find a new uninvited gazebo guest. In that moment, I was struck with the fear of God. Or maybe it was just the fear of being stung. And suddenly the swatter no longer seemed like a worthy weapon of mass destruction.
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