It's reached it's crescendo.
Yep, we are talking fruit flies again. Eldest mentioned a fruit fly flew off of him in class yesterday.
Two days previous, I plurped open the tupperware of
I reclined indolently upstairs last night with my wine glass and saw they had encroached on the marital bed.
This. Was. War.
They had drawn first blood, but I was going to end it. Those fruit flies were my Sheriff Will Teasles.
I went Rambo yesterday. I tied my pink headband around my forehead:
I smashed. I fluttered. I ali-ooped.
I tried pint glasses, demitasses, ramekins, and cereal bowls for traps with cider vinegar, white vinegar, and yes, my beloved wine. I filled root beer bottles. I tried wine bottles. Some had saran wrap on top while other had dish soap. Some had many holes while others were open air.
I put them in the pantry. Near the sink. One actually cleverly positioned in the kitchen garbage.
I windexed those little shisters. I smashed some more.
...And they kept coming.
I emptied the kitchen trash. I wiped and bleached all drains. Their numbers diminished, but they persisted in the pantry. They buzzed around our 9 bottles of vinegars. Yes, nine. Red wine, white wine, cider, generic white, tarragon, balsamic, Japanese Mirin, rice vinegar, and fish sauce.
I looked everywhere. They buzzed. They did arenautical hijinks to evade my flustered swatting.
It's stainless exterior gleamed evil-ly in the dim pantry light.
I had forgotten the pantry garbage can.
Yes, garbage can in the room where we keep food, but this garbage can is a dry can. It's meant to hold Costco binding materials, wraps, plastic, and cardboard. Open a Costco-sized 12 roll of paper towels? Conveniently throw wrapping material there.
So, this garbage can is so dry that we don't even line it, but use it like a waste paper basket and usually recycle most stuff.
And, it only gets emptied on garbage days when Eldest actually remembers it. No big. It's dry. Still it's been two weeks since the last garbage run, so it had not been opened it in a while.
In an instant.
I open the cans.
The hordes ascended.
A fruit fly swarm.
I run it to the outside garbage which resides in the garage to prevent critters. I dump it.
You'll remember no bag?
Blister on a beetle, they're still loose. They could get in the doggy door. They could lay eggs in CG's Mini and live off the crumbs on the floor. Worse, they could get to my seasonal decor!
I rolled the big garbage can out of the garage on to the side of the house. Who cares about bears and raccoons when you have fruit flies inside? Sorry neighbors. I can't have my middleschooler looking like "Pig Pen."
With much trepidation, I go back to the garbage liner and look.
There they were.
Their white, glistening bodies writhed like living pearls in the daylight. Fruit fly larvae were everywhere.
There. On the very bottom of my dry garbage can. Someone had put two pieces of dastardly fruit.
I say fruit because they were unidentifiable except for their generally round shape.
They were entirely covered in maggots and white mold.
My friends, my friends, I say this rather brittle-y, if I ever find out who put that fruit in my dry garbage, they will pay, my friends.
So with every wipe of the garbage, I came up with paper towels full of the worms. I 409. I wiped. The garbage liner sparkled. I then took it outside and sprayed it out. I came inside and started the process again. Spray 409. Wipe. Spray bleach. Wipe. Go outside. Hose down. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat......
We were late to swimming. I removed at least a quarter inch of that liner through corrosive cleaning.
As for the flies, they are diminishing. My traps are working. The vinegar needs to be refreshed daily. Truth be told, I had the best success with wine over vinegar, less soap, and the wine bottle with no saran wrap. Open bowls with a drop of dish soap and red wine vinegar worked the fastest, but then your house smells like a deli.
Notice red wine, wine bottles, and red wine vinegar?
So, they like wine. I don't blame 'em. Me too. We were a disaster waiting to happen.
Last night was the first night I had a glass of wine after dinner where I didn't have to cover my glass with my napkin.
The fight goes on, but the battle has been won.
I am the victor. I, Scout's Honor, can not be stopped:
I would do that jogging dance, but feck if killing bugs isn't stressful. I think I have PTFFSS. You know, like Rambo, but add fruit flies. Post Traumatic Fruit Fly Stress Syndrome.
I started having flashbacks to my childhood when bull weevils took over my parent's Mormon Food Store Room. Bugs and moths came out whenever we were sent in to get a can of something.
Not in my house. PTFFSS..... Sorry, did I gleck on you? Heh!