Spiders

The weather has turned cold. The days of wearing pants to bed have returned. Time to dig the ice scraper out of the trunk and brace yourself for freezing nose hairs. But cold weather does mean three beautiful things: hot chocolate, Santa Claus in the malls, and disappearing spiders.

I hate spiders.

Don't we all. And why shouldn't we? They are hideous, terrifying, flesh-eating beasts. They are all out to kill you. They have no friends. They want no friends. I don't want to go to Hell for the sole reason that Hell is probably full of flying, growling, man-sized spiders. 

Have you ever had a spider dream? I hate spider dreams. I've been chased by a dinosaur-spider, found a nest of spiders under my pillow, and squished a tarantula with a Kleenex. There is only one thing worse than a spider dream: a real spider. Do you think spiders dream? No. Spiders don't sleep. They are too busy being ugly and trying to kill you.

Here is a picture that defines my life:

Have fun getting that image out of your head. You are a little girl, too.

In our house, my wife and I have a rule: whoever sees the spider first tells my wife to get it. And why shouldn't she? She is tough. She raises kids. Surely she can take down a ferocious spider.

I used to think it was cool to be tall until I realized that my head was easier accessed by spiders. Nothing like being slammed in the face with spider webs every time you walk into a carport. My neighbors probably wonder at the shrieking they hear which accompanies my daily panic attack in our carport. You know the word "flail?" That must have been invented by the first guy who saw his buddy walk his face into a spider web. It's embarrassing to flail. But you've got to flail. Better that than certain death.

The other day my wife started screaming in the bathroom. She does this sometimes. When I went to investigate, I started screaming in the bathroom. There was a dead spider. It blended in with the rug and my wife had picked it up thinking it was a wad of trash. I don't know how she made this mistake seeing as the spider was the size of a boulder. Neither of us dared dispose of the body. So we put a cup over it and it's still sitting there. Maybe our two-year old will take care of it. Actually I know he will, because he has this deranged idea that spiders are fun and innocent and not out to kill him. We've caught him a couple times touching a spider and talking to it all playful-like. That behavior certainly did not come from my genes.

But hey, good news: it's all cold outside now and the spiders are disappearing. Every time I want to curse my frozen nose hairs or cold feet in the morning, I will remind myself of this simple fact. And this year I will ask Santa and Jesus to give me the gift of eliminating all the spiders ever. I don't want them dead, per se, as I like to believe I am a respecter of life. But maybe turn all the spiders into Oreos, or something. Yes. Then we'd really have peace on Earth and goodwill toward men.

But then I'd be afraid of Oreos.

Skittles

It just occurred to me that I am extremely hungry. This happens now and again. To most people, I reckon. It also occurred to me that I am nowhere near a source of food. Home is several miles away, I'm not carrying any money, and the vending machine downstairs is carefully monitored by security cameras. So that's no good. What is to be done? Well I'll tell you what I done.

Earlier today, a peer of mine walked in with what appeared to be seven kids'-worth of Halloween candy bulging from a giant bag. Skittles, Airheads, Smarties, and Double Bubble. Everywhere. I was quite hungry at that point of the day as well, so I subtley grabbed a huge handful. When that was gone, and the giant bag was being passed around the room for a second time, I thought to myself, "Hey. You can't just eat candy." But then I thought to myself, "Hey. You can't just not take free crap." So I grabbed another handful. When that was gone, and the giant bag was being passed around the room for the third time, I thought, "Lunch is in ten minutes. I don't want to be spoiling that." Plus I had a frosted sugar cookie waiting for me in my lunch, and even I know when too much is too much. But for good measure, I grabbed one more tiny little package of Skittles and tossed it into my bag.

Now here we are. Six hours later. I'm about to eat my hand, I'm so hungry. Not remembering the Skittles, I wept for a minute. Then I drank about a gallon of water to see if that would trick my stomach. Then as I replaced my water bottle in my bag, something red and beautiful flashed its saucy little packaging up at me. My existential dilemma was over.

I have now eaten all the Skittles. Except for one purple one that fell on the floor. Normally that's no big deal, but I don't trust this place. The dudes here don't wash their hands after using the bathroom. I'll put the Skittle in my pocket though. Just in case. It's a long ride home.