Autumn is flu shot season, and football season, and allergy season. It is also — regrettably — big fly season.
We try to keep our doors shut during the summer months. But somehow, some way, crafty houseflies get inside. And then, usually, we don’t see them for a while. They flit around at night, doing whatever vile things flies do. They also must consume some kind of special housefly growth tonic, because by the time fall comes you’re being dive-bombed by houseflies the size of golf balls that buzz like chainsaws. You hear the distinctive buzz and out of the corner of your eye you see that large, hairy black object flying straight at you and you duck and swat at the repulsive creatures.
Why does autumn seem to infuse flies with such recklessness? Are they simply feeling indestructible because they have grown to brobdingnagian proportions. Or, as I suspect, do they realize that the end is near, and they might as well take one shot at annoying the humans they’ve been avoiding for weeks? When you’re huge, why not live large?
Because we all know how the story ends — with gigantic, granddaddy flies dead as doornails, curled up on the floor or on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, to be retrieved with a tissue and a feeling of utter disgust and tossed in the trash or the toilet. It’s a meek ending for a big fly.