There was a pesky little gnat in my apartment that had been making me crazy for some time. Tiny little thing, like a fruit fly with a growth hormone deficiency. Also faster than a speeding bullet and with a little gnat GPS locator honed in on my left nostril. Seriously irritating, but other than swatting at it with increasing annoyance and decreasing efficiency, I wasn’t really inclined to do much about it. I mean, really, it’s a gnat. What can the lifespan of a gnat be?

Ha ha.

Several weeks later, same gnat.

Now I’m thinking I should try and capture it for scientific study. The world’s oldest living gnat. At the same time, my husband bought a second orchid case to house his increasingly large collection. (Read: possibly out of control.) The new case went on top of a book shelf, displacing a potted ivy we’d recently brought in from outside. That’s when I saw it.

Gnats! Gnats in the ivy. Multiple gnats. Many gnats.

(In my own defense, it had occurred to me that the freakish lifespan could be explained by the existence of more than one, but I never saw more than one at a time, which you have to admit was odd. It’s like they were conducting some sort of psychology experiment.)

And because my wedding vows, in addition to love, honor and cherish, clearly outlined who was responsible for all bug-related things, I demanded my beloved husband do something about the situation RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE.

“Like what?” he asked.

Set it on fire, I thought.

Aloud: “Bug spray under the counter.”

He looked at me like I’d suggested we start trapping stray cats and shaving them for sport. “It’s toxic!”

Yeeeesss.

“It could hurt the plant!”

The plant being a rather mangy bit of ivy a former neighborhood person gave us after it started taking over her kitchen. It’s practically a weed, not that my dear husband makes this distinction. (Coincidently, this is why our neighbors leave orchids – and things they think are orchids but are not – on our doorstep with notes that say “save me.” I’m absolutely not making that up.)

Next thing I know, my husband – again not making this up – has gotten out a roll of packing tape, wrapped it around his hand and is using his sticky paw to swat at the gnats on the ivy, like some sort of giant, animated fly strip.

“What ARE you doing?” I demanded.

“You said to get rid of the gnats.”

“I’m totally putting this on the blog.”