Lord of the flies, or where the fuck did all these flies come from?

We seem to have be invaded by flies. Infiltrated. Violated. Well I don't feel violated, but M sure does. She's absolutely indignant about them, like this is part of the vast conspiracy against her. Well as the head conspirator in the vast conspiracy against her, let me state for the record, it is not. I do not enjoy having to watch my wine glass for suicidal bugs, because then I have to debate whether or not I should rescue them from a liquory death and if I should keep drinking once the bug, dead or alive, has been removed.
Anywho, we cannot figure out where they came from. We both see them, so they're not hallucinations. I think we're good housekeepers and choose to believe that they come in through the cracks in the window, near the air conditioner, because its hot out and our cooking always smells so good. M thinks because we must a secret mess that neither of us knows about, or knows the location of, but flies must be coming from it. She watches them, y'know, to find their secret nest. They're the ones who should be paranoid.