Thursday, March 8, 2012

Forgive Me, PETA, for I have sinned

I have a life-long agreement with Mother Nature. I don't invade her house; she doesn't invade mine. This is why I don't go camping or fishing, or any other activity that involves the outdoors and/or bugs.

Apparently, the huge spider in my shower didn't get the memo.

When I drew back the shower curtain last night, this...this..hairy creature, with big, black, bloodshot eyes, looked up from his cozy porcelin perch, as if saying, "Hello, Grey-Haired Goddess. Why don't you come in and take a shower with me?"

Well, I have heard that line before, but never from a spider. 

I ran into the living room and grabbed Clementine, the cat, awaking her from a pre-bedtime nap.

"Clemmie, come get this icky spider in Mommy's shower, " I begged her. "You get a chance to be a hero, instead of just plain old ornamental!"

Clementine was not happy to be flung into this drama.  She toggled on the edge of the tub, took one look at the spider, jumped and fled into the bedroom.

"Good idea, " I called after her. "Take a power nap to devise your strategy."

Having the funny feeling that kitty wasn't coming back anytime soon, I had to devise Plan B. None of the friends I phoned were available that very minute to come to my place to kill the beast. Okay, on to Plan C. Take on the spider, one-on-one. God, why must I do everything myself?

I devised an ingenious plan....corner the spider onto a piece of paper, then release it outside, in the wild freedom of the patio.

The spider, I must say, was not game for this. I must have poked his legs with paper about one hundred times.  I don't  know whether it was exhaustion, or paper cuts, that finally got him on board. I scurried into the living room, holding the spider/paper as far away from myself as possible.  The master plan was working. I was a genius.

Let me rephrase that....I would have been considered a genius had I remembered to UNLOCK THE PATIO DOOR FIRST. 

My patio door doesnt' have just a plain, old lock to must be unlocked with a key. A key that was on my keychain. A keychain that was somewhere on this earth but not, apparently, within eyesight.  Shit!

So now I am hopping up and down in the living room like a participant in some deranged Mexican hat dance, just knowing in my heart that this spider was probably getting nauseous on  this wild ride and would, no doubt, be vomiting all over the paper any second now. 

I run back into the bath, with just a split-second glance into the bedroom. Clementine is sleeping soundly on my bed. Traitor. 

Now my mind is just about to explode from fear of spiders, spider bites, spider vomit, and all things icky. In a panic, I throw the paper into the sink, turn on the tap, and watch as the biggest, ugliest, nastiest spider gets sucked down the drain. I think I may have heard a tiny cry at the end. 

Please forgive me, little spider. I am sure, in a future lifetime, you will be my miserable boss, creepy neighbor, or slimy future ex-husband. I will do everything I can to make this up to you. 

So long as you don't get in my shower, okay?