Oy.There are fruit flies in my kitchen. Granted, there are fewer now than there have been for the last couple of days, because eradicating fruit flies has become my full time job. You know, in earlier times, alchemists believed that the presence of fruit flies was proof of spontaneous generation, that life could begin from nothing, or in this case, insect life could appear sua sponte merely from the presence of fruit. Uh, okay. Well, they're not coming from fruit or any food and they're not coming from the drain. They seem to have made a home in one of my two kitchen cabinets, which has now been sprayed, washed with soapy water, and washed with bleach. My house now smells like the pool at the Y.
Now, if I were married to anybody else, the answer would be simple: you call an exterminator and then voila, no fruit flies. But we do not use chemicals in this house. Mr. Vegan does not use chemicals on the lawn or garden, either, which is his right because I do not deal with Outside and he can do whatever the hell he wants to out there. But I cannot abide bugs at all ever, and certainly not in my house and certainly not in my kitchen. Although fruit flies are basically harmless; they're just annoying. They don't make me gag, like ants in the kitchen do, or run screaming, like big spiders. But these fruit flies have violated my contract with nature, which is I won't go where they live if they don't go where I live.
It bears repeating: oy.
Other than having a nice lunch with the Chum yesterday, my weekend has been a long, boring stretch of time punctuated by naps and fly hunting. No barbecues for the holiday, which is fine by me. I would be making some treats and such but I'm avoiding the kitchen as much as I can. R has actually been out having a social life, which is giving me a sense of her not being here, leading me to conclude that whether the girls are living at home or not, I will never be happy, either way. When they're here I want my quiet time, when they're not here I miss them.
Once again: oy.
I did get my pedi this morning, which the Sibs and I do together every three or four weeks. My card is filled up, so my next one is free. Afterwards, we did something we hadn't done in a very long time, at least not together: we went to the cemetery, Shirl's birthday on Friday having put that into our heads. What can you say about going to the cemetery? You get there and there they are, sort of, or not. I do pass the cemetery maybe a half dozen times a week, my mother's final joke on me, picking that one. Hah hah.
This entry makes me sound all bummed out, but I'm not, really, just bored and annoyed by the bleachy smell. Nevertheless, I am going to do my walking video now. I still haven't lost a pound, but my stomach muscles are starting to hold the flab in a little bit, so that's something, eh?
