How Time Flies

By Jim Hagarty

Important news today.

Researchers have concluded that when a fly is hungry, its memory improves. Full tummy, bad memory.

They’re looking into whether or not this might also be the case with humans and if they find out that it is, then you can forget about (?) drinking to forget; a better plan would be to eat to forget.

The problem there is, of course, that if you eat too much, and your memory goes on you, you might forget to eat in which case you will get hungry again and the problem of not being able to forget will be coming right back atcha.

So it is quite possible that the best remedy for a broken heart, for example, might be to head to your nearest pizza shop and gorge yourself till the button on your pants pops and your fly (there’s that darned fly again) flies down on its own. I am not a doctor or scientist so don’t take my word for it but on the other hand, I’m pretty sure I’m right.

And for all of us who have been complaining about our bad memories lately, the answer to that may be to STEP AWAY FROM THE FRIDGE.

As for the flies, this story makes me wonder: What does a fly have to remember, anyway? The average one lives from two weeks to four weeks. Maybe it remembers the first time it made love which can happen as early as 36 hours after it hatches from the pupa (thanks Google). Imagine that, 36 hours after it’s born, the randy little thing is already going at it, maybe even with a fly twice its age, or 72 hours old.

That might be something the fly would think is worth remembering.

But what else? All the great manure piles it ever landed on? That dead mouse the Hagartys’ cat killed and left behind the blue spruce? That was a good day.

I think the lesson is this. If you want your houseflies to leave you alone, forget the swatter or the sprays. Leave lots of rotting food and other crap around so it has lots to dine on and when it has bloated itself up to bursting, it will hopefully forget it’s a fly at all and just lie there.

At that point, with luck, the cat will go over and eat it.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.