The house, we shall engulf it in flames, and then we will begin anew.
Randy and I woke up this morning and were just sort of lying there in bed... he was probably talking and I was probably trying to be asleep some more, I don't remember. But then I saw this on the wall out of the corner of my eye.
And for a second all of the hopeful options ran through my mind. Maybe someone had taped a baseball mitt to the wall while we were out to dinner. Or a small cat. Or, wait! Maybe a bunch of hornets got in and spun a big hive thing together! That was probably it!
I interrupted Randy's running monologue on, what, the escalating price of sidewalk pavers to point to the mitt/cat/nest. "What is that? On the wall?"
He rolled over to look. "Oh, that's a gigantic spider."
And then a full second passed before my brain processed the information. It was like hearing that there was a sweaty man under the bed with a meat cleaver and no meat and a hankering, only EIGHTY MILLION TIMES WORSE.
I launched my body out of bed and I didn't stop launching until I was standing in the kitchen. But ever since Randy came back from this horseback riding trip he was on last week we've had these two campfire-smelly rider coats hanging on the patio, right, and every single time I walk past the window and I catch sight of these two black ankle-length coats my immediate reaction is "AGGHHHHH! IT'S HOOK GUY! AND HIS HOOK FRIEND OR COUSIN OR WHATEVER!" because it's exactly like that hook-killer from "
I Know What You Did Last Summer" is on my patio, making fun of my dead plants and getting ready to hook some shit up. And apparently he brought some hook-dude with him.
Up until this morning the coat situation was slightly annoying but still sort of funny. High on enormous spider terror waves, however, and standing nearly naked in my kitchen, it graduated from "slightly annoying" to "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW, HOOK GUY & CO.?" And that "still sort of funny" part ran back and hid in the neighbor's yard.
Now, apparently, a giant spider was going to eat my dog and steal my shit AND THEN that whole "meat cleaver" thing was going to happen, too. So far Saturday had the makings for a great, great day, is what I'm saying. So far I'm dead like four different ways.
So once I realized the coats weren't animated (again) and I'd stopped myself from running headlong into the street, bed-dressed, screaming about dual hovering movie serial killers and a gigantorm dog-eating spider thief (uh, again), I grabbed the camera. And wished Randy luck as he approached our eight-legged friend with a shoe; I was privately afraid that the spider might just swat the shoe out of his hand, but from my vantage point (inside my car in the garage) it sounded like everything went okay.
