This morning I was putting away some dishes in the dishwasher that I had neglected last night. As I was doing so, the hugest bellied spider that I have ever seen in this house came scurrying across the counter at me.
It was coming. Right. For me. Naturally I screamed bloody murder and would have jumped a mile if my back hadn’t slammed into my kitchen island right behind me.
So I stood there for a good moment dazed, grasping my injury and willing my breathing back to normal before I noticed the terrible offender had stopped moving. Surely I must have startled it with my effective hyena-banshee combo screech. In fact, I bet it was more afraid of me than I was of it. That is what I say to myself about small creatures and insects of which I am inexplicably terrified.
Except cockroaches. I saw a few cockroaches back in my days when I lived in NY and let me tell you, hot damn if those things don’t have it ingrained in their genetic code to bide their time for the day when they can pick us off one by one. While it’s been many a year since our last encounter, I am well versed in how to take those bastards on.
Anyway, having collected myself I tried to muster enough courage to get a closer look at the offender so that I could decide my next move. I would need to judge if I would have enough guts to dispose of it (if you think I’m one of those people who would trap it in a cup and set it free to the outside world think again), or if I was going to go with my usual tactic of hiding in another room until it went away on its own. I was fairly certain my dishwasher would not be turning on anytime soon.
Holding my breath, legs poised to bolt at the mere hint of movement from the counter, I leaned in for the examination. Only then did I learn the true identity of my nemesis.
Not a spider; just a dried up baked bean from last night’s dinner that probably fell off a plate that I had lifted and rolled across the counter.
I am open to the possibility that I might need therapy.