A Teeny-Tiny Twist of Fate

         The word 'crawling' or the 'act of crawling' has rarely given me rise to be anything but apprehensive; except perhaps a baby's first crawling experience but even that turns ugly pretty fast. No, in my experience 'crawling' has always been synonymous with creepy, creeping, dark, dangerous, tight-spaces, and running and screaming (lots of running and screaming). Which is partly the reason I hate waking-up to use the bathroom.

         But last night was one of those nights when self-will gave in to a 'better-that-then-this' scenario. So here I am sitting on the toilet ready to do my thing, when from the corner of my eye I spot something 'crawling' in the tub. Now my bladder's full and I'm relatively half asleep, but I don't want to pee myself or get any of it on the floor…"Whew...it's okay...I'm okay...it's just a teeny-weeny spider...you can relax now," I tell myself.

         Spiders terrify me but to add injury to insult this creep is gawking at me as if I've got nothing better to do in the middle of the night than to plan a spider-killing. “You scared me first,” I felt like saying when suddenly his teeny-weeny legs stretched and extended so far out he looked like a radio-active tarantula.

         “Oh shit...” what do I do, what do I do? and in my panic I knocked the toilet paper to the floor and out of reach. How the hell am I suppose to hold it in and stretch over a full bladder? Maybe the spider's right, I am going to kill it when this is all done. It's like the 'German-cock-a-roach hostage fiasco' all over again; but this time my husband's gonna find me glued to the toilet seat, pants down, and pale.

         “Shut-up,” I say behind clenched teeth and the pounding sound of my heart in my chest. Wait...look...the spider's stuck...it just keeps sliding back down. “Ah,” relief. Now I can stretch... just...a little further...got it! And as I reach for the roll it occurs to me how come he can't get out. The tub's too smooth. Which just sucks now, cause I feel sorry for it; even though I was just planning to wash him down the drain a minute ago.

         Is he huffing and puffing? That's just great. Now I'm torn between helping him out of there, and all the spider memories which ended badly. When suddenly it dawn's on me that my husband's gonna be up soon. If I do nothing, it'll give the spider more time to hopefully get out on his own. If not, then when my husband run his shower the pelting water will send the spider down the drain...end of story. I didn't kill it (not technically), it's an air-tight alibi, I can sleep guilt-free. 

         So I get cleaned up and race back to la-la-land. Good luck to you, Mr. Spider. It's morning now and the sun's warmth through the glass window tells me I've got just enough time to get dress and grab a cup of coffee. So I drag my exhausted butt out of bed and head down the hall. The bathroom lacks all tell-tale signs of the night before, as I scan my reflection in the mirror grumbling about the bags under my eyes and my crazy hair. What a sight! And I thought the spider was scary.

         I disrobe, pull the curtain back and almost get a leg over the tub when I spot the spider. “Eek!” I fall backwards against the toilet and practically yank the curtain off the wall. “What the @%^*#!?” There's no way! I'm swearing I'm so mad.

         “I should have killed you when I first saw you,” I say annoyed but impressed that he thought to hide behind the shower-curtain. Is it a fluke or did you read my mind? Now I'm beside-myself, spinning around the room considering what I can use to do it in. I can not have a genius-spider crawling around the house.

         So it's back to plan A, take a shower and wash him down the drain. Yep! That's what I'm gonna do. So why aren't I  moving? I'm just standing there naked, starring down at the spider who's starring up at me; and I can't bring myself to get in the shower. Tick, tick, tick, goes the clock in my head. I'm gonna miss my bus.

         The spider looks as frustrated and exhausted as I feel. But the thought of him trying desperately to survive causes me to reflect on the similarities of our lives. And now I can't bring myself to kill something so small and insignificant yet brave and clever. Maybe I'm silly, but I got to get to work so I better get him out of there. Tick, tick, tick...

         I scan the room and grab a comb of all things and cautiously lean over the tub. But he's refusing to crawl up on it and instead heads in the opposite direction. “Ahhh,” I wail chasing it around the tub. Okay this isn't working, I need something else.

         So I grab a ply of toilet tissue and lie it as close to him as I dare to get. Great! Looks like we're on the same page, I hoist it up and pray he doesn't do anymore crawling. But I barely get him over the tub when he falls off the tissue and dangles by a long-ass spider thread. Swoosh...“eek!”...and plonk.

         “I should just flush you down the drain and be done with it,” I tell the spider who's now floating in the toilet bowl.

         But instead, I grab a second ply and dig him out of the stinky toilet, “Ahhh gross.” This time he gets what I'm trying to do and hangs-on. I'm just about to clear the toilet to set him on the floor. “Don't run up the toilet paper, don't run up the toilet paper, don't run up the toilet...” I scream.

         He's crawling like a crab who's lost his hole and I'm a naked mess. The thought of him or his web touching any part of my body is terrifying. I fly the tissue and hightail it in the shower smacking myself red.

         I'm probably gonna have to take the Bronco to work now and I can forget about getting that cup of coffee. And all I can hope for now is that this isn't a reflection of the day to come. But I'm finally calm, at least enough to be grateful no one was home to witness my mass-hysteria. When suddenly I spot it. I don't believe it, but there it is. The damn spider is sitting on the toilet.