Monday, August 13, 2012
Over dinner a couple of weeks back, my friend explained that the previous day she had been doing her weekly housework chores which included stripping the beds and changing the sheets. She said she'd done the sheets earlier in the day but had gotten distracted before putting the pillow cases on and so, some time just before going to bed she went into the room to finish the task. She lifted up one of the pillows to find a large spider and what she mistook to be an awful lot of little dots of spider poo... until the little dots started to move. In no time the bed was covered in hundreds of tiny baby spiders.
Her husband, who had turned a very pale shade of white, stared at her wide eyed and mouth open in horror. She went on to say she sprayed the bed with bug spray, swept up the bodies and finished putting the pillow cases on. Her husband looked positively sick. It seemed this was the first he'd heard of it.
I can't decide if she's amazingly cool under pressure or completely bat-shit crazy.
There is no way in hell you could have gotten me into that bed after some eight legged hairy ho' bag had spawned her 6 million hairy bastard babies on my pillow. You could have drowned those fuckers in a Mortien swimming pool and it still wouldn't have been enough for me.
Why am I bringing this up? Because so far today I've had three little baby spiders crawl on me and now all I can feel the little tickles of phantom spiders crawling all over my skin. One of the baby spiders (actual, not phantom) sprinted around the bend of the baby's ear and across her forehead as I was feeding her. It took every ounce of impulse control I had not to smack it right there on her head with a magazine.