We're having a bit of trouble with flies lately (someone in Okinawa remind me, are there flies there? Because I don't remember battling them in our house like we are here.) They seem to be everywhere outside so every time we open the door, about five more houseflies gain entry.
We don't own a flyswatter and I kind of refuse to get one because I find them disgusting. I mean, fly guts on a plastic spatula that then you have to store somewhere? No thanks. Besides, we've always gotten along quite nicely without one. I, personally, am a fan of the swat-em-with-a-towel-and-promptly-throw-that-towel-in-the-wash technique. I learned it from Jeff.
He, however, has advanced well beyond the towel. His method of choice? Smashing them between his hands as they fly around (and don't worry, he always washes his hands thoroughly after taking them down). Yeah, that's right, the little suckers don't even have to land for my incredibly hand-eye coordinated husband to get them.
It's things like this that keep a marriage interesting, you know?