Last night I typed up a post. I hit Publish, and then went on to check my mail, mess around on iTunes, pick gunk from under my nails, ect. The stuff everybody does after blogging. So imagine my surprise this morning when I opened up my blog and found my new entry wasn't there. My question is - why do you do this to me, Blogspot? I hit Publish and you thumb your nose in my direction and cry out "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!" (name that movie reference).
Since Dad has not yet deemed us worthy and continues his stint in ICU, Mom is with him a lot. That means I have to up my self sufficent-ness. An example.
I really hate spiders. It might have been mentioned before. So yesterday, when I walked into the hall and saw a brown spider, I just about joined Dad in ICU with a heart attack. Or respiratory arrest. Probably both. But I digress.
My first thought was to kill the thing. It wasn't that big, and if I could find a tennis shoes it'd be even smaller (I think I hear environmentalists gasping in shock). Subsequent to that idea was "Mom would fillet me". Being health conscious as I am, I tried to think of a different plan. The best scheme I could come up was to put a cup over it and wait for somebody to take it away.
I put the cup on it, and went into the kitchen, succumbing to the shivers of fear and revulsion. Ya, I'm brave. After about 20 seconds, it occurred to me that spiders could squeeze through really small cracks. Like the crack between the cup and wood floor. Wait, wasn't that cockroaches? No, it must have been spiders. Roaches could survive huge amounts of radiation (100 times the lethal dose for a human), but spiders could get under stuff. I think. Um....
Not wanting to take any chance of the little booger escaping, I put a huge book on top of the make shift prison cell. Secure in my victory, I strutted back to the kitchen. Which is about when it struck me that a savior might not come back for quite some time. As in hours, not minutes. There was no way I was going to let that thing defile my good floor but sitting for hours. It would probably poop or something.
After sucking it up, I got a piece of paper (the nice kind, not the flimsy kind). It took me 4 tries to get the paper under the cup (couldn't risk an escape), and flip it all over. Once I finished squealing, I shuffled outside, walking 50 feet. The mailbox was the chosen release point, and as soon as the deed was down and the spider gently chucked, I ran back to the house.
Aren't you all glad I started a blog to share my scary spider stories with you? I know I am.