25 August, 2015

Karma, you b*tch.

So, today's our eight year wedding anniversary.  We've had a hell of a ride, and the last four years have been over the top crazy and amazing what with Madam and Dude joining our little troupe, but that's not what I'm going to talk about right now.

No, what I want to talk about is karma.  The vindictive b*tch.

This morning, while stripping the bed during Dude's morning ablutions, I saw a spider.  Let me elaborate.  I saw a huge, nightmare inducing, size of a compact car spider, on the bedroom wall.  I think my heart stopped for a moment, but when I regained use of my fear-frozen limbs, I managed to order the spider not to move and ran to the bathroom for a what even I have to admit was a ridiculously huge wad of loo roll with which to dispatch said beast.

When I ran back in, he was still there.  Staring at me.  Daring me to approach him.

I dared.

Yes, I made awful faces while I dealt with him.  Yes, I shuddered uncontrollably before, during and after the process.  Yes, I stared at the bin for a good three minutes to ensure I'd actually terminated the monster before I went back to stripping the bed.

Of course, my brain being what it is, I started ruminating on the nature of the age-old spider vs. human relationship.  My ecologically minded self is actually aware that spiders are necessary for the ecosystem.  I know, in my head, that the spiders here aren't the crazy, venom-eats-a-hole-in-your-skin kind I grew up avoiding like the plague.  Unfortunately, my fear has been too long nurtured to overcome when presented with a menacing fist-sized beastie in my bedroom.

So then, I start thinking about how a really horrible way to die would be by spider attack.  I have a mental image of myself, covered in spiders, pouring in and out of my ears, nose, mouth... this is my head, people.  It ain't pretty, but it's mine.  And I wonder how many spiders I've killed in my life.  And I wonder, do they talk about me?  Like, have secret meetings when all the humans are sleeping or distracted, and have a top ten list like the FBI's Most Wanted.  That's when I felt a tickle on my left (bare) shoulder.  I glanced over to brush off what I assumed was a stray hair.


I actually screamed out loud.  Like, hurt my throat, stupid blonde girl in a horror movie, probably made the neighbours think I was being murdered screamed.  I'm pretty sure I danced in place for a minute too.  And flapped my arms.

I dealt with that one too.  I couldn't risk that he'd hide somewhere and crawl into my ear in the night to lay eggs that would then hatch and pour out to devour my sleeping family.  I dealt, but I don't think my heart stopped racing for at least an hour.  And I keep looking at the ceilings.

You suck, karma.

1 comment:

  1. Pretty sure I heard that scream. From Hillingdon ����