The Story Behind the Fly

My mom isn’t a big fan of the picture at the top of my blog. Not everyone appreciates a fly with mad swimming skills.

I did appreciate the fly. So much so that I took his (or her) picture.

I had just poured my evening pot of coffee (note I said pot, not cup…I have big mugs) and left my desk for some reason. I returned to my desk and saw the fly. My roommate had gone to bed, and it didn’t seem important enough to wake her, so I captured the moment with my camera. I also shouted, “waiter, there’s a fly in my coffee!” because, really, there may never be another moment in my life when I can truthfully say that.

I debated fishing the fly out of the mug and drinking the coffee. But I didn’t. I actually determined I was a little envious of the fly. Assuming the fly was elderly and lived a nice long fly life, ending it all in my lukewarm mug of freshly ground coffee seemed like a nice exit.

Overall, I think the picture encompasses a lot of stuff (some might say 1,000 words). There’s the humor of a fly landing in coffee (a soup-like substance); the satisfaction of getting to yell, “waiter, there’s a fly in my coffee;” and the hope that when my time is up, I can go out like the fly and spend eternity floating around in coffee. Just the thought is enough to make me smile.

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