Jake, the Fly

He's back.

What is it with my children and minutia? They are fascinated by the smallest, rinkidinkiest things.

To wit, Pie at age three walked around with a sequin named "Menudo". A SEQUIN! She named it "MENUDO"! She carried it on the tip of her finger for days...even weeks. I think Pie was eventually traumatized when "Menudo" met his (her?) demise at the hands of the vacuum cleaner. Oh, she wailed that day!

Anyway, back to the present. Bubba loves flies. We don't have pets in our house because of various allergies but that has not prevented Bubba from adopting a pet fly called Jake. Yes, Jake. Now, those of you familiar with Bubba will remember that about a year ago, he had a similar fascination with a fly named Jake, but this time he is out of his mind. He will follow this one fly around our house for literally hours with his finger stuck out hoping Jake might perch on it. He is VERY...VERY...VERY still so that Jake will not be scared by him and will see fit to land on him (oh, and not to mention that fly leaving feces on said child bit that I love so much).

Right now as I write these very words, Jake is buzzing around my ears, nose, mouth, and eyes like the demon spawn of Jeff Goldblum that he is, and I can't go swat him with the Fly Swatter of Death all because my child thinks Jake is cute and would be devastated.

I...am...not...happy.

Out! Out! Damned Jake!

Shakespeare, I am not.