Okay, I admit it's been waaay too long since I last posted. I've committed the cardinal sin of blogging 101 - blog early, blog often. Seeing as snow was on the ground the last time you heard from me, and now summer is practically around the corner, I'm determined you all receive a frequent dose of banter. And oddly enough, this actually is a nice segway.
Living in Boston, your choices for dwellings are limited - old as shit and expensive, or high end and expensive. Unfortunately for me and the hubs, we live in the former. And what comes with an older home? Bugs, and lots of 'em. Having lived in our apartment for some four years now, we've become much too familiar with the metamorphosis that happens as the winter weather begins to fade and spring time comes rolling in. Spiders - freaky looking, yellowish-gray, fast as lightning spiders - come out to play. Being aracnaphobic, this is the time of year I hate the most. But that's not the worst part.
Where, for whatever ungodly reason, do they like to take up shop? Our bathroom. The one place where the last thing you want to worry about as you're completely exposed is the thought of a spider dropping down on your bare ass. Now usually for me, the mere site of one of these arachnids results in a high pitched shriek, followed by my husband running into the next room to see if I accidentally cut off my left arm. Since by the sound of things, you would think that were the case. But no, I've just spotted one of these freakish things and I need him to kill it - immediately. Now for all of you bug lovers out there, I apologize, but to my credit there are plenty of spiders out there that killing one or two every now again won't hurt anything. Those suckers multiply by the hundreds (I shudder at the thought).
Unluckily for me, last weekend I was in such a predicament - but my husband was nowhere to be found. "I can do this - I'm a tough cookie," I told myself. So I grabbed a wadded up piece of toilet paper - large enough to put out a small grease fire - and courageously stepped up onto the side of my tub so I could come eye to eye with the beast. Quickly slapping the side of the wall with my toilet paper knight, I pulled the wad away thinking I was victorious. No sooner had I done so then the spider - hanging from its spidey web - came flying at my face, to which I responded with my trademark shriek and rapidly threw my failed executor to the ground. I could hear my landlord on the floor above rapidly move his feet around - no doubt in response to my commotion. "They probably think I'm being attacked by a wild alpaca!" I thought. So I immediately started yelling, "Spider! Large spider!" so they wouldn't come running in to find me down to my skivvies, a saber-toothed spider coming at me.
What I'm leaving out is that my mother, god bless her, gave me one of those bug vacuum suckers for Christmas to help me in my pursuit of killing all-things creepy-crawly. Dutifully grabbing my saber, I position it over the spider - who is running at lightning speed straight toward me - and turn the power on. What they don't tell you on the box? That once you suck that bug into the tube, it stays alive!
So now I have this humongous spider frantically crawling back and forth in its makeshift coffin. They should really create these things with a button that injects a Raid-like substance to ensure they're bumped off once and for good. So now I'm thinking, "I have to release this sucker back into the wild?! What if it takes my face off when I let it free?" Thinking I was being smart, I position the bug sucker over the toilet. "Quick like a band aid, I'll just detach the tube from the vacuum and the spider will fall into the toilet," I rationalize.
But the spider didn't fall into the toilet. It's frantically running down the side of the toilet toward freedom. In all my shrieking glory, my first instinct is to grab the bug vacuum again and -with a resounding whack! - dutifully kill the lil' bugger once and for all.
I am woman, hear me roar.
