A woman walked into the kitchen and immediately froze.
Her husband was creeping around like a secret agent on a mission… tiptoeing, squinting, and gripping a fly swatter like it was a high-tech weapon.
She raised an eyebrow. “Okay… what exactly are you doing?”
Without even turning around, he whispered dramatically, “Hunting flies.”
Now she was curious.
“Oh really? And how’s that going for you, Mr. Fly Hunter? Got any?”
He stood up straight, puffed his chest a little, and said proudly, “Oh yeah. Five so far.”
She folded her arms. “Five? That’s… oddly impressive. Details?”
He nodded like he was reporting from a battlefield. “Three males… two females.”
She blinked.
Paused.
Then blinked again.
“…I’m sorry, what?”
He casually leaned against the counter like this was the most normal conversation in the world.
“Yeah,” he said. “Three males and two females.”
Now she was fully invested.
She stepped closer, squinting at him like she was trying to solve a mystery. “Alright, genius… how on earth can you tell the difference between male and female flies?”
He didn’t even hesitate.
“Easy,” he said confidently.
“Three were hanging out on a beer can…”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“…and the other two were on the phone.”
There was a long silence.
She stared at him.
He stared back, completely serious.
And just like that… the fly swatter slowly became the least ridiculous thing in the room.