Spiders are not my skill set. Like no where frigging near my skill set and will never be and never were and I don’t like anything that I have to sew extra appendages onto a shirt in order for my kids to have a believable costume if they wanted to be one for Halloween. Things that are in my skill set are:
- Feeling absolutely giddy about aggressive dogwoods that shove their pink flowers in my face whilst I am walking to my morning internship.
- Enjoying the ridiculously beautiful light at the Milwaukee Art Museum and spending time there with a friend of 25 years.
- Finding with ease unflattering selfies that highlight my increasingly pliable wrinkles and facial flaws.
- Freaking out about a large black spider whose body I could see articulating as it searched out the highest unreachable corner of my house at 11 pm when I wanted to write an entry about my oldest son’s never ending appetite for food off of anyone’s plate. Don’t let this crap photo fool you. It is low light in our unfinished bathroom with dumb bum vaulted ceilings. This spider is about the half the size of my fist. I couldn’t reach this vicious thing with my extended wand on that Dyson portable sucker mucker. So I stood on my desk chair. Because I love old things the chair’s wicker bottom broke when I stood on it to still NOT reach the arachnid. I got a step stool. No. A sturdy tall ladder and stood on the part that has the sticker that says “DONT STAND ON HERE FREAKING OUT PERSON” and I still couldn’t reach this creature deciding to weave a nest and lay multiple copies of its crunchy, legged self in the form of some ironic gossamer sac. Ugh. So I texted my husband who was three states away at a dinner meeting and said URGENT and he stepped out from his meeting to call me and he asked if the kids were okay and I said there is a giant spider asking for a beer in that one corner in our bathroom and he said he would be home tomorrow and I said the spider will eat us by then and he said maybe sleep would help and I huffed and hung up and got the super extendo painter’s pole and stuffed the hole of in the end of the painter’s pole with toilet paper. No one wants a giant spider cramming itself into the hole of an extendo pole when I think I’ve knocked it to its death only to have it hide in that hole and then jump out and siphon my brains into its inhuman digestive system whatever that is. Yuck. So I knocked the beast from its perch and it was falling down, down, and closer to me. This was fine because I could then zap it up into my vacuum. But, its thread was stuck on the end of my pole. I thought I could work with this turn of events and just bring it a touch closer to me so I could murder it. Ha. But it didn’t work that way. The crawlie had the nerve to drop down my sink drain. So I flooded the sink with hot water and even forced water down the safety valve a few times. Then, I stopped everything up, and filled it with water again – just in case the spider can crawl thru some strange crevice and then go downstairs and raid my fridge. I do not want Mrs. Eight Legs eating my stash of salted caramels or extra dark chocolate from Trader Joe’s. Not even my oldest son who eats everything not superglued to an inanimate object would do that.