I'm back and I have a pressing question. How big is too big when it comes to washing spiders down drains? I ask this because I recently chose the drain method over other, more conventional, means. This particular spider looked like this:
Moving on.
I slid back the shower curtain and saw this bad boy staring at me, hunger in his eyes. The mere thought of squishing it with a tissue was enough to make me vomit. Besides, he probably would have just grabbed the tissue and thrown it back at me. I took the cowards way out and started pouring water on him, slowing inching him towards the drain. The fact that it took 5 hair-rinser-cup-thingy's full to get him to the drain is a testament to his monolithic size.
Finally, he was gone. Let the showering commence.
But if a relaxing shower after a hard day of being a mom/slave/house-elf is what I was looking for, then it was futile. I spent the entire 4.5 minutes (yes, that was four and a half. Not forty-five. I've got crap to do.) waiting for him to come crawling back up out of the drain and exact his horrific revenge on me. I'm no mathematician. I don't know what the weight of something has to be in order for it to bypass the trap. I do know, however, that I felt my foot step on something as I was almost finished and literally jumped back into the shower wall. Was that part of his master plan? For it to look like an accident? I clung to the 4x4 white tiles and nearly sobbed with relief when I discovered it was simply a sliver of soap.
What's the point of this inane story, you ask? There really isn't one. Other than from here on out, I will not be a drain-washing pansy. I will crush the arachnids as they scurry. And I will not be satisfied until I see their hairy little legs twitch their final twitch.
But I'm always going to be waiting for the one from tonight's episode to come crawling back up.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Whaddya think about that?