Houseflies!

I have one here who will not leave me alone. It keeps landing on my hair. MY HAIR. Like that doesn't give me a complex. I shake my head to suggest, perhaps, the relocation of his antennaed butt. A gentle shake does not move the shady pest, and he laughs at my feeble attempt of dislodgement, at my faulty display of command.

I attempt to shake him free again, with more force, more vigor. I repeat this several times and my head begins to ache, my neck too, and my stomach turns. I stop. I feel vibrations upon my head and I know the fly is snickering...or passing gas...and neither strike me as fetching.

So, I wave my hands and spook him from his perch. He circles once, twice, and lands again. I continue to wave my hands in angry jerks. I get chilled from the rapid air currents. The fly is no longer frightened by my weird arm movements anyway.

Then, it happens. The moment I feared, the moment I tried to avoid—the act that I have carried out so many times in the past without thought to consequence—the act that enacts Miles to laugh like he's never laughed before: I smacked myself on the head—over and over again. Fly's gone. Head aches. I think we all know who won this round.