I am still not dead. Though I appreciate my lack of postings would suggest otherwise.
Ever since the time I murdered the Daddy-Long-Legs by trying to save it’s life, I’ve become a bit ridiculous in regards to spider safety. For example, if I find a Daddy-Long-Legs in my shower, instead of trying to save it (because we all know how well THAT turned out) I now try and angle my body so the minimal amount of water spray gets on it. Which makes my shower insanely uncomfortable. I tried ‘pretending’ I didn’t see them and so if, oh well, my shower spray sent them spiralling down the drain I told myself it wasn’t my fault. BUT IT WAS.
I clearly have problems.
Just now, while going out to enjoy a summer evening cigarette*, I noticed a spider, a white one, not sure what kind, perched by my doorway. Surrounding it was a lot of little spider-babies. After my initial freak out, with the thought of them growing up and running around my house, I’ve decided I’m quite fond of them. I certainly can’t kill them. THEY’RE CHILDREN. And so one half of me hopes they grow up really quickly and leave home to seek their fortunes, while the other (and I admit, more imaginative half) has dreams of creating a Spider-Baby Army in which they obey my every whim. The picture in my head is very a la Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets:
With a bit of Aladdin thrown in. The Aladdin part is where I picture myself riding the biggest spider under a canopy, languidly** waving my arms to command my Spider-Baby Army.
It’s all pretty awesome.
* Enjoyment is a strong word, as I’m smoking the second rate Champion Ruby as the IGA in the sticks that I was forced to go to had run out of Golden Virginia. What the hell? Who smokes Golden Virginia outside of Europe apart from me?
** Languid should clearly be in the list of words to be used as often as possible.