This evening, when I was going back and forth from my kitchen to the grill outside, I accidentally let a fly in. He headed to the kitchen. I couldn’t blame him. That’s where I would go if I were a fly.

When I finished grilling my chicken and brought it back inside, this fly was buzzing all over the place.

He would land somewhere and I would try to sneak up on him. He was very crafty and always take off. I tried to swat him more than once and failed. I came to the conclusion that he must have been a distinguished member of the Fly Air Force.

But then I started talking to him. Seriously, I talked to this fly. I said, “Buddy…I hate to say it…but I just want to let you know that I am going to kill you.” He rubbed his front legs together, as if he said he heard me and was up for the challenge, and then took off again.

Eventually, he landed close to my grilled chicken. I had enough. This was it. He wasn’t getting any of my chicken.

I shooed him away from my chicken and as soon as he took off my reflexes kicked in and I caught him midflight and held him in my hand and then drowned him.

At the point in this true story, you might me scratching your head and asking how and why I drowned him.

The answer is quite simple. I had some dishes soaking in the sink. I put my hand down in the water and let him go to see if he could snorkel.