On the second cup of coffee, pouring the non-fat cream in the rich brew, a fly bobbed up among the clouds. Flies are a fact of life here and pretty much everywhere else. Mom, she'll throw the cup out, wash or get a new cup and refill--if she has the stomach still. At least that was the scenario before she took forensic's for cops. She got an A+ in blood spatter, we're so proud of her. But now will come the test of, flies in the ointment, when one lands on what she is going to put in her mouth. She did raise some recently in her closet. A scoop of dead person in a jar, then wait to see how long the scoop of dead become maggots and finally, flies.
I considered a new cup myself. The thought was there until I realized I would have to make another pot if I wanted a full cup of coffee. With a flick of the finger, out went the fly. A trick taught to me by an uncle when I was twelve. He used it on bird shit in his beer. We had a large Chinese Cypress in the backyard the birds loved and so did we on hot summer days. Sparrow shit is flickable. When it comes to birds larger than that, you have a problem.
The coffee wasn't as pleasant as I had hoped. It was a necessary drug however for waking up. Tomorrow, Mom is coming. She is in a dilemma over her gay grandchild's need to grow his fingernails long and her son's ultra conservative religiosity and his need to have the boy cut them to a manly length.
Oh, those manly men. I can see him now towering over his beautiful child, "What are you? Some kind of Girly-man?
Mom is standing by, trained in the art of the Fey, and will protect this little one from the Manly-Man and his un-holy ways.
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