Help Me! Help Me!

Right now at this very moment, Mark is being a gigantic flaming asshole. He is calling me names, and throwing crap around in the kitchen. His rant today is being caused by a fly that he claims I purposely let in the back door. "I can't cook with a goddamned fly in the kitchen!! Every goddamned day you let a goddamned fly in! You dumb, jackass, goddamned, sonofabitch!!!", and that's the cleaned up version. He uses even more despicable language than I have the nerve to put in a story my mom will probably read.

It seems that there are a species of fly who have an intelligence above and beyond the average fly. They apparently know exactly what days Mark cooks dinner, and the exact time that I will be opening the door to throw out the garbage, and they are able to coordinate their being outside the door with those times. It is quite amazing, I open the door for five seconds to throw the bag of garbage in the can, and bzzzzzzzt, in a fat hungry fly comes. It happens every time, and I don't know how to stop it. The problem is that Mark has no tolerance for bugs in the kitchen, and for that I am happy, but how the hell is it my fault that these flies have figured out how to get in on eating Mark's cooking? I don't think I'm going to be able to outsmart these flies, but I did just get an idea of what to get Mark for his birthday.