Anyway, I was just sorting through all of the wet towels and shorts my son had crapped through when a friendly little stowaway crawled out of our dirty laundry: a spider. Um, hell-to-the-no, mother fucker. Your ass ain't got to go home but it sho nuff ain't staying here.
|Actor portrayal of actual events.|
As the spider leisurely crawled out of a pile of our dirty drawers, my daughter saw it and said, "Mama! Remember that book Be Nice to Spiders? We should save him!"
Me: You're right. I will pick him up and take him outside.
The Quiet Contemplator: OK!
(Insert TQC's instant loss of interest and her leaving the room. Then insert me crushing the spider to death with a shoe and sending him to heaven, because I am surely not letting some immigrant spider hole up in my casa while I sleep.)
RIP, spider. I hated you well for the short time I knew you.
Warning: a spider was harmed in the making of this post. Why? Because fuck spiders, that's why.
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