In my humble opinion, there is nothing cuter than the sight of three young boys in their boxer briefs hunting for a house fly.
We discovered this afternoon that one of the little monsters found it’s way into our home. Now, I have a live and let live feeling about flies (in VERY small numbers). Since my house is reasonably clean (my DH may beg to differ), they will just die in a day or two anyway. But once the DH gets wind of one in the house, everything must come to a screeching halt until the little bugger is found and sufficiently flattened. My boys have a similar attitude, though not necessarily for the same reason.
It was right after we got home from the pool. The boys had stripped of their wet suits and, with a healthy dose of nagging, put on their boxer briefs. At that moment, the fly made the mistake of crossing their line of sight. They immediately went to the mud room to acquire their weapons of choice. Each now sufficiently armed, they silently (as silent as young boys can be) stalked the lower floors of the house. Fevered whispers followed by loud running as they all rushed to the window the fly landed on.
The rule is, (and yes this happens often enough that there are rules) if you spot it, you get first crack at it. But that doesn’t stop the others from piling in behind the striker to try and get a swat at it if missed.
The thrill of the hunt played out for over a half an hour around and around the main floor. Maybe the pet store sells flies so I will always have a rainy day activity…