The fly.

There is a fly in my room. It is flitting about in circles, periodically dive-bombing me as I type. I hate it. I've yelled for my husband, but he's on the opposite side of the house loading clothes in the washer ("I'm out of socks.").

The door to my bedroom is open. I'm hoping it sees it as an escape route, but the hallway is dark and I don't think flies like the dark.

Which is weird, because flies flock to poop, which is extremely dark.

Unrelated, yet related - I wrote a story for my kids once about a fly named Frog. He was a superhero and when anyone yelled, "FROG!" the fly would instantly appear and kick the crap out of the bad guy. If you accidentally said "Frog" the fly would also appear and just hang around, sitting on your dinner.

My sisters, children, and niece.

My aunt's service was lovely. It was a beautiful day. I cried like a baby.