I’m not a “I hate spiders” kind of gal. When I can, I scoop them up on a piece of paper and put them outside, rather than squishing them. And, if I have to squish them, I’ll do it myself.
There’s a small vintage child’s chair in our fireplace. It sort of just landed there, and then a candle just sort of appeared on it, and now it’s just another example of the unintentional-lazy-whatever sort of decorating that goes on around here. But that chair is also serving as a nice landing pad for all the spiders who come in through the fireplace. And evidently they see the chair and think, “How NICE of that lady to provide a seat for us. Let’s live here forever.” Add in our current cold front and it’s spider city around here.
Which I did not mind until I took a bath today.
Let’s just say that one of the spiders-in-residence made her way upstairs. Let’s just say that she sprung down on me to say hello while I was in my birthday suit and submerged up to my nose in what was supposed to be a peaceful lavender-salt-bath. Let’s just say that I probably-kind-of flooded the bathroom whilst flailing and having a “talk” with said spider.
And by talk I mean I killed her.
And while Emily Dickinson might have heard a fly buzz when she died, today, I was pretty sure I was going out while face to face with a tiny overly friendly arachnid.
So now I’m considering not selling this Serenity Prayer needlework art in my shop and instead hanging it in my bathroom to remind myself that the next time a spider attacks me while I’m naked, I should perhaps remember that God is always watching. And She probably didn’t care for my spider-fueled profanity.