Today’s entry is brought to you by a blend of horror and rage. I am writing it from my bedroom which happens to be the room that is furthest from my kitchen. My kitchen happens to be the room where a tablespoon-sized hairy spider currently resides.
Did you hear me scream when I saw it?
Like virtually every other inconvenience and/or irritation in my life, the root of this situation can be traced back to my husband, Jack.
Allow me to explain.
Jack was gracious enough to attend a March of Dimes ballroom dancing charity event with me last night.
Me: Honey, I forgot to mention that I’m supposed to go to this thing at the Hilton tonight. It’s a fundraiser and one of my co-workers and her husband are going to be in a ballroom dancing competition. Do you want to go with me?
Jack: What if they all start chanting “JACK! JACK! JACK! Get up and dance!”?
Me: I don’t think that’s going to happen.
Jack: Fine. I’ll go.
I was stunned. He’s generally an agreeable guy, but he doesn’t usually consent to last-minute social functions (especially ones that involve ballroom dancing) without at least a little bit of pouting. Naturally, his quick cooperation could only mean one thing – the ledger would be tipped in his favor.
I hate it when that happens.
It didn’t take long for him to cash in his chips. We didn’t stay at the event very long. I was exhausted from a marathon (read: ALL FREAKING DAY) Words With Friends session.
Side note: OMG, have any of you ever played Words With Friends??? If not, DO NOT. I am convinced that it’s brought to us by the makers of crack. It’s an iPhone/iPad app similar to Scrabble, except you play with either friends or random users around the country. When I first heard about it, I didn’t think I’d be interested. I’m not a fan of Scrabble for the same reason I’m not a fan of Jeopardy; it makes me feel stupid. I don’t know whether it’s because I don’t have to look my opponents in the eyes as I attempt to use FLAUX as an entry (what?…it could be a word…whatever) or because I don’t have to deal with calculating the scores myself or because I don’t have to contend with that annoying little rack and those annoying little tiles, but I genuinely enjoy WWF. Unfortunately, my enjoyment quickly turned into a full-blown obsession. I accomplished absolutely nothing yesterday. The fact that I had 14 WWF games running concurrently may or may not have had something to do with that.
Anyway, I was tired, my defenses were low and the ledger was not favoring Team Donna, so when Jack said he was was in the mood for wings (and by ‘wings’, he meant ‘beer’,) I reluctantly agreed to go to a local (dive) bar. Because we’re classy like that. We had a lovely time talking to an absolutely adorable 21-year old bartender named Miley who was so full of promise and joy that I kind of wanted to slap her.
Miley: I’m a senior at UD! I’m graduating next month!
Me: Oh, that’s so nice! Congratulations! What’s your major?
Miley: Hotel and Restaurant Management!
Me: What are you planning to do after you graduate?
Miley: I think I’d like to be a wedding planner!
Me: Why? Brides are such bitches.
I really need to work on my cynicism.
Miley: Haha! But I’d be a part of making a memory for people! That would be such a nice thing! My best friend is getting married! I helped her plan her wedding!
Me: How old is your friend?
Miley: 21! I think she’s probably a little young to get married, but they’re so happy! They’ve been together since they were 14!!
Me: Oh, dear Christ. They’re doomed.
What’s wrong with me??
Anyway, Jack had a few beers, so I drove home. As we were walking into the house, he pointed to a huge, tablespoon-sized hairy spider on the step. It had a neck and a head. And teeth. I think I saw teeth.
Jack: (pointing) Huh-huh…look.
Me: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!! KILL IT!!! KILLLLLLL IIIIIIIITTTTTT!!!!
Jack: He’s fine. He’s not hurting anything.
Me: If you don’t kill it, it’s going to make its way into the house and then there will be hell to pay, I tell you!!! HELL TO PAY!!!!! KILLLLL IIIIIIIITTTTT!!!!
Jack: (hiccup) Relax. It’ll be fine.
I was out for a few hours this morning. I thought the worst thing I would encounter upon my return was a pile of poo (Frankie does not appreciate being left alone for too long). Instead, I walked into the kitchen and found him.
I literally froze mid-stride and stopped breathing.
Frankie appeared from nowhere and pounced on him a bit. He didn’t move. At all. I assumed he was dead, but was afraid to vacuum him up in case he wasn’t. I think I would have passed out if I saw him actually move. So, I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I grabbed my laptop and my phone, ran upstairs to my bedroom, called my husband at work and demanded that he come home immediately to address this crisis.
He’s still at work.
A couple of hours later, Frankie was barking to go outside so I went downstairs. On my way, I was thinking about how ridiculous I was for being too afraid to vacuum up a dead spider. Halfway down the stairs, I drummed up the courage to take care of it myself. I am woman, hear me roar! As I rounded the corner and walked toward the sliding door, I glanced toward the crime scene. But he was GONE. GONE. HE’S GONE!! That means he’s somewhere IN MY HOUSE!!!
I think I might have to move. Right after I wrap up my 12 remaining WWF games.