Join me on the front porch swing, where we'll watch the world go by and take the time to enjoy life's little pleasures, like donuts on the porch. (Speaking of, do you have donuts? Please bring them with you. Crumbs are not a problem here). Oh. And I'll make this up as I go along, okay?
discovered a huge spider in the corner behind the toilet, no doubt
planning his surprise attack on the the next unfortunate victim to sit
With horror, I realized my resident spider slayer
(a.k.a. reason enough to marry again) had already left for work, so I
did what any reasonable person would do when confronting one of those
giant spiders with those God-awful bendy spider legs: I cried for a good 15 minutes.
Then, mustering the courage that only comes from someone who has to pee
really, really badly, I realized it was him or me. And it wasn't going
to be me. Not today. Unfortunately, I didn't have any bug spray in
the bathroom, nor could I reach behind the toilet to adequately swat him
with anything I had handy. I wasn't about to leave the restroom to get
bug spray and risk him crawling away, as I knew -- KNEW -- he'd find his
way to my bed tonight to carry out his evil spider intentions (there
are no other kind of spider intentions). He undoubtedly was a Rare
Evil South American spider, inadvertently carried in with his family on
some bananas. As soon as I fell asleep, he would bring Mrs. Spider to my
bedroom to lay her venomous spider eggs in my cheek. With
adrenaline coursing through my veins (or maybe that was the three cups
of coffee I had?), I grabbed the first thing I saw: a can of air
freshener. And I began to spray the daylights out of the spider. HA!
Take THAT! You see, I have read enough picture posts from those
wonderful organic mamas -- who don't feed their children PopTarts for
dinner, like I do -- to know that I was dousing him in dangerous, irritating,
carcinogenic chemicals. I sprayed him again. But I soon realized
with dismay -- as the spider raised eight middle fingers in my direction
-- that it would take years for those chemicals to do their damage,
and my bladder couldn't wait that long. Plus, the toxins probably would
only make him grow EXTRA God-awful bendy legs that he would use to carry
out his spider revenge. Damn. Sweat dripping from my brow, I
quickly rummaged through the cabinet, anxiously peeking over my shoulder
every few seconds to make sure the spider couldn't fly. Aha! I grabbed what I thought was a can of hairspray and ran back to the toilet.
As the spider smirked about his future spider babies in my cheek, I
said, "You've got to ask yourself one question. 'Do I feel lucky?' Well,
do ya, punk?" Then I sprayed. And sprayed some more. And some more. Only it wasn't hairspray. It was dry shampoo.
At first, he laughed. I had not only made him smell divine with my
aerosol attacks, I had now fluffed his hairy spider legs. He was going
to be quite the catch at the Rare Evil South American Banana Spider
Party -- to be held later that night on my face. He turned to face me. We stared at each other, eye to eyes....
I screamed. I prayed. I might have peed my pants.
But then something happened. The dry hairspray was ... drying. He froze
in mid-air. It played out like a weird spider version of The Matrix.
Figuring this was my only chance to slay him -- or star in a Matrix
film --l I did three slow-motion back flips (in my head) and sprayed him
again. Again. Again. Again. He dropped to the floor beside the toilet, motionless, and extra coiffed.
I wasn't falling for his sneaky spider antics, so I ran back to the
cabinet and returned with an arsenal of hairspray, shaving cream, heat
protection spray, brown sugar and vanilla body spray... I gave him
everything I had. Damn, he smelled wonderful.
As he lie on the
floor, covered in mousse, I carefully, gingerly, cautiously reached
behind the toilet with an entire roll of toilet paper wrapped around my
Shuddering, I picked him up -- or rather, he stuck to the toilet paper -- and I dropped it all into the toilet. Good riddance, Rare Evil South American Banana Spider!
I flushed three times. Okay. Five times. Okay. Twenty-seven times.
And then I went to another bathroom to pee because I realized that I
likely only rinsed the toiletries off of him -- leaving his God-awful
bendy leg hair remarkably smooth and shiny -- and making it easier for
him to swim.
I will have to duct-tape the lid down on the
toilet for a few days (months) before I feel safe. Does anyone know how
long Rare Evil South American Banana Spiders can hold their breath?