Izzy Swats A Fly!

All right, it's not the best picture in the world. It may not even look completely like her. She may wonder some day what I was thinking putting it on a blog for all to see. What's the purpose? Well, it tells a story. And it goes a little something like this...

Early one spring morning, Isabelle Stephenson was happily playing princesses with her charming brother, Prince William. A certain fly, or what she thought might be one certain fly, precociously landed on her Cinderella carriage. Isabelle was appalled, as flies certainly do not land on a glittering carriage. Isabelle's Momma handed her an amazing thing. It was a beautiful shade of yellow, with a long handle and a hand-shaped end. It was a fly swatter.

"For me to use all by myself?" she asked. "Certainly," said Momma.

Isabelle, all giddy with glee, went on a fly-hunting mission. Ever so stealthily she crept closer to an oblivious fly, WHACK! She missed. The fly flew off, Isabelle in hot pursuit. WHACK! Missed again. Izzy chased him till she was dizzy. SMACK! Aaah, paydirt. This time, the little fly did not take flight. He lay flat as a mackeral, dead. Sweet Isabelle jumped up and down in delight, "I smacked 'im Momma, I smacked 'im." Momma said, "You killed one?" A long silence, then a wee voice, "I killeded him?" "It's the only way you're going to get rid of him, honey!" A long silence, again, then, THWACK! "Momma, I'm gonna get all these flies, right now, and THEN I am going to PLAY PRINCESSES! WITH NO FLIES!"

She was a silent killer, creep, creep, SMACK! Dead. Creep, slide, creep, SMACK! Dead. Step, step, WHACK! Dead. It was no contest. They were dropping like, well, like flies. When the melee was over, the great room looked like the scene of a bad horror movie, little black bodies lay everywhere. They met their less than graceful end with the powerful suction of the Dustbuster, which she also enjoyed.

Then, ever so quietly, she sat down with her princesses once again, and put them all to sleep in the castle. She carefully tucked them in, and said in her best Momma's voice, "Don't worry, those flies aren't going to land on you evah, evah again."

And they didn't. From that day on, the Stephenson household never saw another fly. They were too afraid to cross the threshold, afraid that Fast Fingers Izzy might be laying in wait, yellow flyswatter ready, to do battle again--and win. As for the princesses, well, only one lost their crowned head to Prince William, who pulled it off rather purposefully. The rest lived, like the Stephensons of course, happily ever after.

THE END