First I'd like to here note: I like spiders - in theory. In reality, I'm phobic. Keep in mind every time I type s-p-i-d-e-r on my phone, the s-p-i-d-e-r emoji comes up on my screen and far too close to my face and fingers. This I do not like.
Yesterday I spied a spider at the top of our lounge curtains. Spouse was at work so I mustered the necessary courage, got the fly swat and approached with caution.
I take a swing. I'm uncertain if I hit it, but I watch horrified as it arcs through the air towards me. Spinning to run I collect a foot against the sofa leg and tangle my legs in each other.
Faliling wildly I have time to wonder what I must look like to potential witnesses and am grateful when I don't fall flat on my face. I check - there are no onlookers to my moment of gracelessness and terror, so I face my priorities: I have to ensure the spider is 1) not on me 2) really, truly, definitely, one-hundred percent not on me and 3) dead, or near enough to.
I spot it on the floor and though pretty certain of its death I bravely return and swat at the spider-corpse twice more for good measure. I then hobble to the sofa to inspect my injuries.
But from the sofa I can still see the spider-corpse and this is disturbing me. As quickly as I can hobble I dispose of the spider-corpse. Compost or landfill? Definitely not recycling. I put the spider-corpse in the compost bin although immediately I second guess my decision. Landfill seems more secure, more final. But it's too late to change my mind now - I am definitely not digging the spider-corpse out of the compost bin.
Back on the sofa I discover I have twisted a knee and an ankle.
Being me, I quickly see the hilarity in this moment. What doesn't kill me...actually, pause that thought, it's complete bollocks. It's still funny though. I put ice on knee and ankle and elevate them. When Spouse returns I regale him with my heroic tale.
And then I decide to go for a lie down. Suddenly my foot and ankle will not cooperate. My ankle is having none of it. At this point Spouse insists I stop laughing immediately and that we go to the doctor. I don't stop laughing. We don't go to the doctor.
As the evening progressed Spouse starts to realise the benefits of me being stuck in bed/on the sofa for the next few days. I can't get into any trouble on my own. I need an accomplice. And since he's the only one about, there will be no trouble making for the immediate future.
If I do have to go to a doctor I'm daring myself to say: "you should've seen the other guy". But for now, I limp off into the sunset.
