Fly Doing The Backstroke In My Crown

This is one of those short articles that fall under the category "whatever moves us."

It is 11:15 pm EST, and I just finished writing "Pickled Pink." Sometimes I become so focused on writing that I neglect my taste buds, and my need for libations.

Sitting on the table next to me is a tea tumbler missing two thirds of it's contents. Having uploaded the last post, I decided to down the remaining contents most expeditiously.

As I gulped the remaining Crown and Coke, I felt something solid brush against my lips. My first thought, it is just a small chip of ice lingering until the end. Not so.

To my horror, it turns out a fly decided to practice the back stroke in my drink. I guess the fly went in for a drink, had a little too much, and you can guess the rest.

I am usually very attentive to debris in my drink after an episode from my childhood. I grew up in the post hippy era of the seventies, when under aged parties were rarely monitored by the adults. It was at one of these parties that I experienced something that would scar my psyche forever.

The parents of the boy throwing the party allowed smoking in the party room. No liquor was allowed, but canned sodas were supplied on the house. Needless to say, many half-full soda cans became ash trays.

After working up an insatiable thirst after jamming on the drums, I found my seat where I left my soda. Buzzing from adrenalin and...I began chugging my drink. After two or three gulps, it occurred to me that something was amiss.

Then I tasted the truth. People were using my soda can as an ashtray. Being an individual that always attempts to find something good out of ever bad situation, I am not too grossed out over the back stroking fly. It could be worse.

The fly could be doing the back stroke in my ash tray...