The one where I procrastinate. Again.

Yeah, I’m procrastinating again. This time I’m not putting off school work, but rather doing the dishes. I no longer have an excuse for not doing them, so I should probably just get off my ass and wash them. Thing is, that’s where the pregnant spider attacked me and I’m kinda afraid that she’s hanging out in my sink, waiting to kick my ass. And she’ll do it, too. Cuzz she’s a spider. A PREGNANT SPIDER.

Ok, since I wasn’t able to write about it the other day (stupid intarwebs thwarting me), I guess I can write about it. See, I was washing out the crock pot so I could get dinner going. There I was, barely awake from nap time (which has become mandatory since Squishy came into the picture), standing in front of the sink with my pink dish gloves on.

Yes, I said pink. And no, I didn’t buy them. They were for free, so I can forgive them for being pink. This time.

Anyway. There I was, standing in front of the sink, pink gloves on, hot water and apple scented dish soap all foamy and full of the cleanness. I happened to glance down at my left arm and there she was in all her pregnant glory. Ginormous, black and possibly furry, though I can’t be sure about the fur cuzz she was sporting the biggest fucking egg sack I’ve ever seen. I’m talking an egg sack like the kind you only see on spiders in nature shows. There was no seeing her back part, just that damned huge egg sack.

Needless to say, I screamed like the giant girl that I am and damned near sent myself to the ground with the way I jumped away from my arm like I could just leave it there. Pregnant spider seemed to think that was amusing and clung to my arm like it was riding a roller coaster. I finally shook it off my arm and saw it land on the floor.

Now, if you know me or have read my previous stories about being attacked by all things bug, you’ll remember that killing bugs, especially spiders, is not something I do. Anyone remember the Cup On A Mop® tool I constructed to try to kill the spider at work? Mhmm.

So, I decided that I was going to kill the pregnant spider. After all, if I just let her roam around, then she’d be free to birth her little spider minions and teach them to attack me as well. I didn’t have anything that I could play smashy with, so I went and got my tennis shoes on. By the time I got back into the kitchen, the pregnant bitch was gone. I have yet to see her or her freakishly ginormous egg sack.

Looking back, I probably could’ve played smashy with my cane. I mean, it’s got a ridged (yes, I mean ridged, as in it has ridges) rubber end on it so I could’ve smashied that thing in, like, three separate places. Had I not been fearing for my life, I’d have probably done just that.

What’s worse? A fly got into the house somehow and the cats track it every now and again. When it lands on the wall and they all sit there and stare at it, my heart stops for a minute cuzz I think that maybe they’ve found the pregnant spider. Or worse, they’ve found a nets of her heathen minions.


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