…because I’m engaged in an ongoing war with a horde of pantry flies.
Yes, I’ve cleaned out the pantry. TWICE. I’ve thrown out all the old pasta and cereal and tortilla chips. I’ve put all the flour and corn meal in the refrigerator. I’ve filled like eight pantry fly traps with dead flies. My pantry reeks of female pantry fly pheromone.
My latest theory is that they’re hatching and procreating in the dry cat food. And I don’t have space in my small, enviro-efficient fridge for 15 pounds of cat food. And since Rocky eats five pounds a week, and I refuse to shop for cat food more than once a month, I guess I’ll have to live with the damn flies.
From a positive perspective, they provide extra exercise for the kids, who chase them manically around the house, crushing them between their small hands. Good for hand-eye coordination too.
And pantry flies don’t bite, like bedbugs, which are supposedly making a comeback since we stopped spritzing the world with DDT. The pantry flies just flutter around and leave dusty black spots on the wall when I mash them there. And they provide extra protein right? Since my kids have chosen not to eat meat, extra protein, even in the form of hatching pantry flies, is good.
Back to the war. Maybe if I smoosh enough flies on the wall, it’ll look artistic. Like I painted it that way.
