A woman walked into the kitchen one afternoon and found her husband intensely stalking around the room, clutching a plastic fly swatter like a high-stakes hunter.
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, amused.
“Hunting flies,” he whispered grimly, without breaking eye contact with the wall.
“Oh, really?” she chuckled. “Have you actually managed to kill any yet?”
“Yep,” he answered proudly. “Five so far. Three males and two females.”
Intrigued by his sudden expertise, the wife crossed her arms and asked, “Oh, come on. How could you possibly tell the difference between male and female flies?”
The husband lowered his swatter, looked at her deadpan, and replied:
“It was easy. Three of them were sitting on a beer can, and the other two were on the telephone.”
