When thinking of Provence, there are certain romantic images that swim through the head… lavender, Rosé, the beautiful works of Cézanne, and the glamour of the Côte d’Azur. One image that probably doesn’t make the cut are flies. Lots and lots of pesky flies. But trust me, they are as Provencal as Pastis. As soon as the temperature rises, they appear, in abundance, ready to get their annoying on.
Where normally we have loads, right now we have sh*t loads thanks to the flock of sheep grazing outside the village. With their stinky wool coats, come the flies, and I lose my mind a little bit. So as Fifty and I battle the little buggers (me armed with a dishtowel, and Fifty bare-pawed) please enjoy this fly post from last summer. (originally posted 21st July 2010)
Thank you.
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Since summer is on full blast in Le Petit Village (not complaining, that winter was a beyotch), besides the sock and sandal wearing tourists, another breed has arrived; the fly kind (no, not Superfly, that would be cool though). Flies. As in those little annoying winged flying things.
Our house doesn’t have screens on the windows. Whenever a window is open, a new fleet of little flying a-holes arrive; ready to land on the table, the wall, me, and to really piss me off, something I’m eating. The windows are always open. Every one of them, all the time. It’s wicked hot here and there’s no AC. I’m actually praying for Monsieur Mistral so I can get a little air in here.
I hate flies. Hate them. They all deserve to be destroyed. But there are a few methods to ensure mass destruction of those pesky buggars…
*That awful hanging tape where little fly corpses stick on display. No thank you. These just don’t seem very hygienic to me. Little dead fly bodies decorating your living room. Gross.
*Bug spray. This is good. Although the smell gets me a little woozy because I have a tendency to get trigger happy (I’m like the end of Scarface).
*Fifty. He loves trying to kill flies. But letting him loose is not that great of an idea. Although it is non-stop fun watching him bite at the air. I’m getting worried about the furniture that he’s slamming his body into as he throws on the breaks and skids across the floor.
*A dish towel. This is my preferred method. I’m a ninja with that thing. One quick snap and game over (in a stealth like fashion… never even saw me coming… suckers).
*Nunchucks and Chinese Stars. (not yet, I’m still waiting for the ones I ordered on the internet).
I’m beginning to worry about my sanity a bit. I get a lot of enjoyment from the death of these little fly aholes and do a lot of trash talking in the process….
“yeah, how you like me now?”
“that’s right, tell your friends”
“wax on wax off bitches”
In the immortal words of Vanilla Ice…
“slice like a ninja cut like a razor blade”
I’m out.
Word to your mother.
bisou
P.S. Those nunchucks and Chinese Stars never did make it to Le Petit Village. I’m blaming that one on La Poste.
P.S.S. don’t forget to enter my summer read giveaway here
It's Me, Sara Louise 
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