Under Grumpa's Hat

Ever wonder what a fly’s day looks like? You shouldn’t. But since you’re already here, buckle up your six imaginary wings and join me for a day in the life of yours truly: Frankie the Fly. Professional wall-hanger, part-time food critic, and full-time witness to humanity’s finest moments of stupidity.

My morning starts on a bathroom mirror, as always. I watch a middle-aged man squinting at himself like he’s trying to remember where he put his youth. Toothpaste foam dribbles down his chin. He misses his mouth twice with the razor, then swears at the mirror like it’s the one that slipped. I admire him though. Takes courage to start the day bleeding and still go to work. I would’ve called in sick.

Breakfast is a buffet on the edge of the garbage bin. Half a banana, a bit of yogurt, and something that used to be lasagna but now resembles modern art. I take a bite of everything, because I’m a fly and also because no one can stop me. The dog gives me a dirty look, but between you and me, he’s the real slob. I’ve seen what he licks.

By noon I’m feeling social, so I visit the picnic table out back. A couple is eating sandwiches, sharing laughs and secrets, all very romantic until he mentions his ex. She stops chewing, her eyes go narrow, and I know I’m about to witness something beautiful. In less than thirty seconds, I’m the only one still eating. He’s apologizing with a tomato slice on his cheek while she Googles “how to spot narcissists.” I buzz off before the breakup playlist starts.

Next stop: the kitchen counter. The toddler’s lunch plate is a mix of spaghetti and applesauce. He’s finger-painting his face with the sauce, and I’m impressed with his dedication. His mother swoops in like a drill sergeant, armed with a wet wipe. There’s a standoff. I land on her arm for fun. She screams, drops the wipe, and I make a tactical retreat to the light fixture. Victory.

By mid-afternoon, I’m exhausted. I stop for a rest on a man’s laptop while he’s on a Zoom meeting. He’s pretending to care about quarterly projections while secretly online shopping for golf clubs. I take a stroll across the screen. His eyes follow me instead of his boss’s pie chart. “Hold on, guys,” he mutters, swatting at me with a notepad. I dodge effortlessly, because, well, I’m faster and I actually work for a living.

Around supper, I sneak into a backyard barbecue. There’s smoke, music, and people bragging about their steaks like they personally hunted them with spears. I do a few fly-bys over the potato salad. It’s been sitting out long enough to qualify as a science experiment, but I don’t judge. I’ve eaten worse. I land for a taste when someone waves their beer at me like they’re conducting an orchestra. If they only knew I prefer wine.

Later that night, I find myself perched quietly on the bedroom wall of that same couple from the picnic. Looks like they made up. There’s whispering, giggling, and the kind of movement that makes the bedsprings sound like a rusty screen door in a windstorm. I watch for scientific purposes, of course. After about thirty-seven seconds, it’s all over. He’s snoring, she’s scrolling her phone, and I’m sitting there wondering if it’s too soon to applaud. I’ve seen moths put on longer performances.

As the sun sets, I reflect on the day. I’ve survived rolled-up magazines, clapping hands, and one attempted swat with a fly swatter that had “Die, you little bastard” written on it. Charming. But I’ve also seen laughter, love, and the strange rituals humans call “living.” You people are messy, loud, and completely illogical. Yet, somehow, fascinating.

I finally land on the kitchen window sill for a rest. It’s warm, peaceful. I close my wings and think about how tomorrow I might visit the bakery. Maybe find something sweet that isn’t yesterday’s leftovers.

Then I hear it. The faint zzzt from the corner of the room. The blue glow. The electric bug zapper.

I’m drawn in like a drunk uncle to karaoke night. I tell myself I’ll just take a peek, get a little closer, see what all the fuss is about.

Everything goes white.

Funny, I spent my whole life buzzing around humans, thinking I was above them. Turns out I wasn’t. Not by much.

Maybe the moral of the story is this: we all get drawn to the light eventually, thinking it’s something beautiful, when it’s really just a trap with a better view.