To hit or not to hit. the bug that is
With the now, finally, pleasant weather (mid-seventies, we've had our windows opens, and as a result had many flies buzzing around the house.
After having one land one too many times on my dinner plate, I got a rolled up newspaper and began to chase it around the house swatting at it. I killed two or three before I heard a plaintive cry.
"No Hit! Not hit bug"
Little Sophie schooled well that we are no to hit Chicken, or William or our parents, or pretty much anything caught me in my hypocrisy. I put down the paper and marvelled at my daughter's sweet defense of the flies.
So, like any good parent, I curtailed my fly swatting until she was napping or outside. Then a week or so later. We were playing in the living room, and a fly was buzzing about.
"Hit bug, hit bug!" Sophie cried miming the swatting posture.
Had I turned my innocent daughter into a killing machine?
Had she discivered how annoying those flies are?
I don't know. Thankfully it is getting cold enough the flies will disappear soon and I won't have to answer that question.