The Party Crashers or maybe the party just crashes

Life has settled into a bit of a routine Chez Lindy's. It's a glorious Sunday morning, warm and intensely sunny. After an emergency dash to the pharmacy late last night, I'm freshly stocked up on my prescription antihistamines. I have that peaceful feeling from knowing all is right with the world. Usually, I try and eradicate my ignorance by reading the newspaper but inevitably I read the comics and the ads for the sales. I've canceled my newspaper delivery for the weekend so I actually have time to putter around. I spend a few minutes wallowing in the sensation of ignorance accumulating rapidly and just not giving a hoot.

I put on my fabulously purple guaranteed latex-free gardening gloves. I love these gloves. I'm allergic to latex. I'm allergic to a lot of stuff that grows in gardens. Like plants. And molds. And just about any insect that bites. Did I mention I'm allergic to soil (well, OK, I'm really only allergic to the dust mites living in the soil). I'm allergic to creatures with fur and feathers too but that's a different story. I feel like I'm ready to do anything with those gloves on. Except maybe take a deep breath. You never know.

So, I tackle the problem of transferring my root-bound impatiens plants to proper window boxes boldly. It's much easier picking out dead leaves and clearing dirt when you can use your hands instead of chopsticks. I feel enabled. Enthused, I plant some seeds too. I start to run out of pots and switch to filling soil and seeds into an old egg carton. Great for seedlings. Recyclable too. That just about cleared all of the planting chores and I can tidy up.

For my last chore of the morning, I collect the kitchen scraps to feed the little wrigglers for the day. It's pretty warm and they are probably active. Luckily, I fed them a hearty meal just a few days ago before the warm weather kicked in. I'm confident they're not starved or anything.

Lifting the lid and moving the top layer of bedding aside to bury the food scraps, I notice a cloud of black spots swimming before my eyes.

That's odd. Usually, that happens when I stand up, not when I squat down.

I breath calmly, rhythmically, not too deep, not too shallow. That usually takes care of the problem. I feel fine.

The cloud of black spots is still there. And starting to settle back down onto the remains of the last wriggler feeding.

Oh.

Nuts.

Uninvited guests.

How do I ask them leave? My little wriggler friends prefer organic munchies. Garlic or lemon might have been effective but I've already had one escape attempt. I doubt fly spray can really tell the difference between friend and foe.

Clearly this is a job for the mighty Google engine.(Thank you Google) And by the way, I never did get the chance to congratulate Larry and Lucy before, during or even after the wedding. Congratulations! But I digress....

After much reading, the simplest least toxic solution seems to be to construct a vinegar trap. Fill a small container with vinegar at the bottom, place plastic wrap with a small hole at the top. Flys go in but they don't leave. Oh and one last thing. Use balsamic vinegar.

Dang, this is a yuppie neighborhood.