Summer warrior

We danced about the squared circle that is my kitchen like two prizefighters. Sizing one another up. Parrying. Trading taunts. Then, in a flash, it was on. I unleashed a vicious backhand-backhand combo. I was sure it was enough to bring him down, and for a moment I thought I did, until the buzzing returned.

Like a cellphone ring that only a child can hear, he told me: "Not so fast."

A jab, a miss. Another jab, another miss. Finally, the death blow -- or so I thought. There was no body. Was this fly the insect equivalent of Blackbeard, or maybe D.B. Cooper? No. It was only later, in search of chips, I found him in the pantry -- and he'd brought reinforcements. It was a two-on-one. A dirty fight, but I was ready.

I choked up on my weapon of choice (City & Region), trading my power for pinpoint precision. Pow pow! And suddenly it was NaturalBlog 1, Flies 0.

My remaining opponent -- afraid? stunned? hoping maybe I hadn't noticed him? -- sulked along the side of the window frame. I opened up my stance, fired my first forehand of the afternoon, and ended the fight then and there.

The battle was over, but I know the war continues. They're like the terrorists, those flies. I have to get them every time; they only have to get me once.