So I was sitting at my desk some time ago, after having just eaten a nice dinner. It was very nice. As a matter of fact, the only thing about it that wasn't nice was the fly. A little gnat of a thing that found great sport in buzzing my face during my lovely meal.
I was able to ignore it for the most part. It was only a minor annoyance. And eventually the meal was complete.
I found myself sitting quietly afterward, absently following the fly around the room with my eyes. I shouldn't say staring, as it is rude to stare, even at such a little creature as a fly. But it would seem that my little friend did not appreciate being looked upon, and retaliated with a kamikaze divebomb aimed directly at my face.
We locked eyes for the most infinitesimal of moments as he sped, crazed, toward his destination.
Now something should be said of the Fight or Flight instinct. All animals in the universe have it, from the lowliest crawling thing to the highest creeper that creepeth upon the earth. It is by this instinct that we decide whether to run away from incoming danger, or to stand and face it.
It was with this thought that I primed the muscles in my right arm for attack. With precise aim, and devastating strength, I reached far back and swatted like a girl at the tiny fly.
My attack complete, I sat dazed and slack-jawed, unsure if I had indeed fended off the psychotic insect.
As I sat pondering this, I was dealt a horribly frightening card by the hand of fate. As I tongued the front of my teeth, greedily searching for any remnant of flavor from my delicious meal, I happened upon a tiny flavorless lump right behind my bottom lip.
My eyes opened wide.
My greatest fear had been realized. Could this be the fly that had so steadfastly declared war upon my face? Had he succeeded?
My mind raced. My mouth had been open. The fly was banking and flying at a considerable rate of speed.
My fingers flew to my mouth, removing the mystery lump from my lip, and as I held it, I just had to ask.
Should I look at my fingers?
Do I really want to know if there was a fly in my mouth?
If I didn't look, the answer might as well have been "Yes, Josh, that was a disease-ridden insect that you just licked."
If I did look, the answer could be the same, but it could be "It's okay, Josh. You won't have to go vomit to remove the latent fly particles from your trachea."
I had to look.
I had to know.
I looked.
And it was not a fly.
The wave of relief that flowed over me couldn't have been any more refreshing if I was standing under a cool thunderstorm all my own.
The thought that I would like to leave you with is this: I would never have known that blissful respite if it wasn't for the fact that, minutes before, I might have just eaten a fly.
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