I am battling a spider.
Spiders here seem to have a penchant for making their homes behind the glass of the side-view mirror and there is one living in the driver-side mirror right now. It makes these thick and gross-looking cobwebs that go from the mirror to the door. Every day, when I get home from work, I find a little stick and I destroy the spider webs with what is probably a weirdly high amount of satisfaction. And every morning the damn webs are back. I saw the spider once, it’s a plump little gray-brown thing about the size of a finger nail. When I saw the spider I went after it with my web-destroying stick but it scuttled back behind the mirror pretty quickly. I even did my best to wash the thing out with a deluge of water when I was at the car wash place. I moved the mirror to one side as far as I could and shot water behind the mirror. That eight-legged demon creature must have been hanging on for dear life in there because the next morning the cob webs were back. And it has to be the same spider because I don’t think another spider would have made it’s home in the mirror so quickly.
I hate that spider. And it’s just big enough to terrify me. I’m pretty sure that one day I’ll be driving and it will find its way into the car and something terrible will happen. Like the time a cockroach flew in the window in Texas and hooked it’s spiny little legs into my dress. I almost died. Seriously, the swerving was not safe. And then I parked at a gas station, jumped out of the car, brushed it off my skirt and whacked at it over and over with my flip-flop while screaming. I still remember how people pumping their gas turned their heads to watch me. They probably thought I was on drugs. I was kind of embarrassed but not embarrassed enough to stop killing that cockroach good and dead.
Anyway, I just don’t like spiders. I don’t see why something needs eight legs unless it’s for getting up to nefarious deeds. I pretty much believe that every spider watches humans and thinks, “If only I were bigger.” I used to say that my problem with animals grew proportionately with the amount of legs they had, thinking this to be a clever little statement. But then, when I was at a winery in Marlborough with Tom, the dude pouring the wine heard me say that and said, “So you’re cooler with snakes than you are with sheep?” He stunned me. And I wanted to say, “Who the hell asked you, wine-boy?!” But instead I just said, “Huh. I guess you’re right,” while thinking of the amount of times I’d said that statement while people were probably thinking..”Boy, she’s dumb.”
I’ve got to figure out a plan to catch that spider. Maybe I’ll find a little roly-poly bug and stick it in the web and wait for the spider to come drain its blood and then WHACK! I’ll kill it. And don’t worry, no roly-poly bugs will be hurt, they’ll just be bait.
I could always set the car on fire. That’ll teach the monster. But I don’t think Tom would feel the ends justify the means.
I Googled, “Setting house on fire because of spider” (since we all know how great I am at searching for things) and had to deal with a huge amount of horrifying spider pictures. One picture was of a giant spider tearing a man apart…the guy’s arm was hanging from its mandibles. I’m pretty sure that picture was photo-shopped though….. or it’s Australia. Could be either one, really.
On Friday I was sitting out on the playground and one of my little cuties was sitting on my lap. She was feeling silly and she kept pulling my hair over my eyes and giggling and then bringing her face up against mine until we both looked like we had one giant cyclops eye and laughing like crazy. And then she poked my boobs. And without thinking about it at all I said, “Hey, don’t poke my boobs!” She tilted her head to the side and looked up at me with her big brown eyes and said, “What’s boobs?” “No, I said, blue. The blue words on the shirt. If you poke them, they’ll fade.” Little did I know I could not trick this wily little four-year-old. She stared at me and giggled and said “No, you said ‘boobs’. What’s boobs?”
Now, I’m sure, when I go into the classroom on Monday morning I’m going to walk in to a scene of chaos with children running around waving their hands in the air yelling, “Boobs! Boobs! Boobs!” And the director will come to me and say, “Leah, shall we have a little chat?” But I’ve already formed my defense. I will list all the words that are 100 times worse than ‘boob’ and say, “Aren’t you just happy I didn’t say [ ]”. I think that’ll save me.
I didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. A friend of mine was doing Thanksgiving at her house, and I was all set to go, but after work on Thursday I just could not muster up the mental strength to be social. Socializing is mentally taxing for me sometimes if I don’t know the people well, and after being “on” with kids and teachers all day, I just couldn’t do it. So I went home and ate leftover sweet and sour tofu and watched Brooklyn Nine Nine (hilarious cop sitcom on Netflix….I highly recommend it) and I was perfectly happy.
I did make a mental list of all the things I’m grateful for. And I think that’s pretty darn important. Because, honestly, with Tom gone it’s pretty easy to get down in the dumps. But it hasn’t been terrible. I’m not depressed or lonely in general, I’m just lonely for Tom. I miss how much he makes me laugh. Plus, when he’s home, whenever I cook dinner (which is pretty much always….by my own choice) he does the dishes. And having to wash my own dishes after I cook dinner is pretty darn crummy. I miss my lil’ dishwasher.
Happy Belated Thanksgiving, y’all.