So I'm out in the garden stooping and squatting to pick hot peppers when suddenly a horsefly as big as Connecticut discovers my sweaty back, much in the way Christopher Columbus discovered America: "Look! A vast expanse of unclaimed territory bulging with natural resources--and mine, all mine!"
Meanwhile, I'm suddenly straightening up with a yelp: "Hey! If you haven't noticed, I'm sort of using this back right now, so buzz off!"
But the fly not only fails to listen, but he also notifies his extended family of an unprotected back in the pepper sector, and before you know it I'm spending half my time bending to pick peppers and the other half standing and swatting myself spastically with my visor or whatever else happens to be at hand, including, once, a red chili, which was less effective at discouraging the horseflies than you might think. One time I knocked the biggest horsefly to the ground, but he was only stunned. Before I could squash him, he was buzzing around my back just out of my reach.
I somehow finished picked my peck of peppers and headed for the house, where a careful examination revealed three big horsefly welts on my shoulder, neck, and back--but don't worry about me. A horsefly bite is no more painful than, say, being beaten repeatedly about the shoulders with a ball-peen hammer.
Today's score: horsefly 3, human 0, but I'll survive to swat another day.
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