So I was talking to my dad the other day, out by the barn, late in the afternoon. He was talking about this and that, mostly telling old stories from his younger days; he’s retired now and hard of hearing. As he rattled on, a big old fly went buzzing right by my ear. I swiped at it but it was a persistent bugger. I kept swatting until it finally distracted my father.
“What’s wrong with you, Anna? Some new dance?”
“Naw,” I muttered. “Horsefly.”
“What was that again?” he asked, puzzled. I was still waving my hands around trying to kill the insect. I was getting more and more irritated.
“HORSEFLY!” I shouted, louder than I had meant to.
“No…” Dad said musingly. “They don’t; at least, not any of the girls I ever met!”