Karma isn’t for pussies

I may have overplayed my assassin skills on a spider when the inevitable happened last night. I was sitting at the dining room table writing. The scene was intense – poor ol’ Kim eats it in the Amazon, and her surgical career could be over, so she’s trying to come to terms with losing everything she’s worked for. I was in The Zone – that place where I shut out everything, ringing phones, barking beagles, TV, baby spiders…

Whoa.

Baby spiders?

Holy mother of god. There are….how many…sheeeit…at least fifty of them, all floating down on invisible silk they spun from their evil little butts. I shot back from the table as if I’d had a proctology exam with a cattle prod. Random thoughts raced through non-firing synapses as I grabbed my laptop out of their landing zone. Why are there so freaking many of them? Is this some sort of spider convention and they all decided to spend the evening ensuring my karmic payback? After all, I did murder one of their own just last week. We live in a woodsy area and get a lot of them.

Ah geez, I got it. A freaking spidey egg sac. Instant shudder. I scream for hubby. We have to torch the entire house and move, I screech while dancing around on my tippy toes, certain the little infant Satans have a giant hairy thing waiting on the ground to bite my ankles.

I sped past hubby, whose mirth has him bent over gasping for air, and grab the mini Hoover. You really don’t need to do that, hubby says through a few snorts of laughter. I’ll get some paper towels, and….NO! I yell, don’t you get it? They’re out to kill me.

I plug the Hoover in and fire up the motor. Die, you little spawn of hell. I suck every last one of them into my faithful agent of all that’s good and right. Oh, don’t tell me spiders are great and they eat all the icky bugs off the plants. They crawl around on hairy legs and bite and scare the ever-loving shit out of me. Give me a snake or frog any day. Lizards are more than welcome.

I aim the Hoover hose at the chandelier where the evil egg sac must reside – how DARE that filthy rat bastard plant her slutty egg sac on my lovely chandelier? If there’s fifty little spiders, there are probably a thousand left, waiting to plot their web-evil when I least expect it.

WHACK! What the hell? Aw geez, I just sucked up two of my lovely crystal hangey-down thingies from my chandelier. Shit. HONEY, I scream and spew out in one breathless dribble, Canyouhelpme?Isuckedupmyhangeydownthings.

More laughing ensues. You just aren’t having a good night, are you?

Thoughts race through my head as to why I married this man. You gotta go into the Hoover bag and get my crystal hangey-down things.

Moi, kimosabe? sez he. It was my idea to get a paper towel.

This morning I sit in the dining room, looking at the two barren spots where my missing crystal hangey-down things should be and wonder if my karma hasn’t taken a U-turn. I look at the Hoover sitting in the corner and wonder if those sucked-up agents of evil are laughing while gaily spinning webs around my captured crystal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tiny escapee of last night’s carnage. I squish the little bastard with my finger. There, how’s that for up close and personal?

Did I mention that I really hate spiders?