The other day I reached a new level of low.
I was on my way to take a shower before heading out for the day, when I opened the shower door to discover a gigantic spider in the bottom of it. The kind of spider that would have to be divided into pieces in order to fit down the drain – at least 10.
I blinked. He blinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinked. (That would be his eight beady eyes)
I gasped. He snarled.
I backed away slowly. He approached rather quickly. I slammed the door and ran. What’s a little grease? Nothing a well-positioned head scarf can’t hide.
Then I realized how silly I was being. How can I be so afraid of such a medium sized creature? In my defense, I have encountered spiders in my home that are so large, I tried to smush them with a book, and they bench pressed it. I’ve tried to drown them in the toilet, and they swam to the side, angrier than before. I’ve attempted to lasso them, and … well, you get the point. But I realized they are still much smaller than me, and nothing, not even a giant arachnid can stop ME, a determined, independent and brave woman, from taking a shower.
So, what happened?
I did what any determined, self-respecting independent and brave woman would do. I shut the shower door. Shut the bathroom door. Lined the bottom crack with towels. And waited until my hunky husband got home to take care of it.
This is not silly of me, it was in our wedding vows. “I promise to love you forever, to never forsake you, and to kill all your spiders, whether they be the size of a flea, or of a small rabbit.”
Chelsea zero. Spider zero. Hubby one.