She stalks the room, armed cocked, radar scanning. She sees it settle and snaps the swatter down. Spinning and flailing in frantic pursuit, her next blow finds her partner, tit square.

"Oh, babe! I'm sorry, it's that fucking bottle fly..." then stops as she sees a nipple rapidly rising proud beneath the thin tee. 

Eye to eye, they each raise a brow.

"Stay!" she commands.

In a minute she's back, poised in the hallway door, naked, smiling, waving two swatters.  

Next door, Mr. Jacobs looks up from his book as gleeful cries echo out. 

He shakes his head. Newlyweds!