"A Fly On The Wall"

A short story by Lisa Marie Dalian
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It is so hot in this Louisiana heat… I need a break. My wings are starting to crack and creak from all this flying around. Air conditioning is what I need.

Up ahead there’s a huge mansion. Surely they have some AC and no doubt a variety of liquid refreshments. My little black body flies me straight into the mansion… following behind some guy in a dirty beater tank carrying a plastic bag from Mobile. I believe I spot some Cheetos! YUM!

Holy shit! The smell traveling behind him is God awful… glad it only took a second or else I could have keeled over from the stench of BO. My appetite for Cheetos is all but ruined. I fly around a bit and decide to land in one of the 100 rooms. One of the benefits of being a fly is the ability to eavesdrop… one of my favorite pastimes, which is why I chose this particular room.

A pregnant lady and her chubby-cheeked 1 and a half year old little baby are present. It seems a bit odd to me that this particular woman is bending over a laundry basket full of dirty men’s clothes, while her baby lay not in a stroller or carrying seat… but simply on his back on the edge of the dryer. An odd place for a baby, I noted silently.

As I observed and listen to the lady lip-sync to a CD playing in the background (I believe it was “Hit Me Baby… One More Time"), my nostrils (do flies have nostrils?!?) flared as I noticed a familiar stench… oh fuck! It was the smelly man again. He is chugging from a 40 of Miller High Life. “Classy,” I think to my little fly self.

He walks up behind her and grabs the back of her white (filthy, I might add) linen dress and pinched her behind. She squeals and jumps forward, knocking her knee into the dryer. She spins around to face the smelly man, and unbeknown to her, the little baby takes a tumble off the side into the dirty basket of men’s clothing. Phew… at least he had something to break his fall. When the lady whips her extensions around, I almost didn’t recognize her… but after a second or two of watching her curse at her husband using air quotes I realized… it was none other than Ms. Britney Spears herself.

Yes, even flies know who Britney is. They swarm around and her smelly husband all day long.

After a lengthy conversation, I overhear what I deduce is K-Fed say, “Baby, yo, why you alwayz be doin’ the paparazzi’s laundry yo?”

Britney replied, “Because, free loader, I am fading fast out of the lime light. I need some kind of attention, and the only way I can keep the paparazzi coming by to take pictures of me doing attention-getting things is to bribe them by doing their laundry. I had to scrub Matt Lauer’s toilets in order to get that damn national TV interview on NBC. He also had me wash his socks during our talk, which was why they were noticeably absent.” After a brief pause, she picked up Sean Preston who was all but suffocating in the stinky paparazzi shirt pile, brushed him off, and slapped him back up on the dryer. I fly closer to hear the rest, landing on top of the washing machine. She then turns back to Kevin, whipping her extensions again (a few falling out) and said, “…and because I’m real like that!”

She stormed out of the laundry room. K-Fed shrugs, probably not understanding half of the conversation that just happened. He reaches above the washer (the stench grows stronger) into the cabinets and retrieves a bottle of Jack Daniels and a shot glass. Why there is alcohol next to the fabric softener, don’t ask me. He stands there, above me, taking a few shotz. When he is finished, I notice him staring down at the washer. He looks like he is staring at me. Oh shit…. You have got to be kidding. It cannot end like this.

I see him reach down, take off his flip flop, hold it over his head (whew… smelly!), and almost as if in slow motion… swats down at me.

SPLAT!


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Disclaimer: please know this story was written in jest. It does not portray actual events in the home of Britney Spears and her slacker husband.