|"Honey? Get a shoe. There's a spider in the lagoon again."|
I'd like to start today by saying Thank You for all of the kind, enthusiastic, and downright awesome comments I received on Book Day. It took all I had not to drive to all of your houses and hug the daylights out of you.
The time it would take to sort out all those restraining orders kept me at bay. Always with the feet dragging, me and paperwork...
On the great news front, At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles is sitting squarely at #12 on Kindle books for "Parenting Humor," so I'm not only super grateful to you guys for making it happen, but I've also ingested about eight cups of coffee in celebration, so a high five for unstable hand motions all around. Also, if you haven't entered the super fabulous giveaway, click here.
Now then, if any of you can think of anything worse than being betrayed in your own bed, throw it at me.
Yes, licking chips and sticking them back into the dip ruffles my feathers too, but no.
From my position under the covers, nose stuffed up, wondering why NyQuil didn't come in easy to open, twelve ounce cans, I watched Jennifer Lawrence fashionably sport an off-the-shoulder top while stupidly crawl into a hole in someone's basement.
Ladies, let's stop doing this. I don't care if there's a house at the end of your street making weird sounds. You can't change people. Stay out of the hole.
I wheezed and pulled the comforter over my eyes. "Jennifer, stop. There aren't anymore Academy Awards down there."
Too late. I heard her scream, and just as I poked my head back out to assess the damage, a black spot on the blanket caught my eye. Had that spot always been there? I made sure to wash the comforter at least once a year, but had I become that inept?
Through the dark, I looked at Husband and back at the spot. And back at Husband. And back at the spot.
It couldn't be.
The room was dark. Surely J. Lawrence's unnecessary accoustic guitar-playing scene had me spooked.
Lord, save us all.
Husband almost fell out of bed. "What are you doing?"
Clinging to the ceiling fan, I fumbled around for the light. "The light. The light. I can't find the light. There's a spider in our bed, and I can't find the light. What good is Edison's invention, if it isn't there in times of crisis?"
"You've overreacting. Here, I'll just.."
"You killed it with your hand."
"That's so manly. I find you so attractive right now, I feel like you should be on a calendar or something. Maybe an expensive block of Post It notes."
He sighed. "Bring me some toilet paper."
*Paige runs off to retrieve disposal supplies*
"You didn't have to bring the entire roll of toilet paper."
"You don't bring a knife to a gun fight."
The important thing here, is that the spider's gone, but I've spent the last few nights learning how to trust again.
So, I'd like to remind all of you to remember to stock adequate amounts of toilet paper, and if you happen to watch The House At the End of the Street, it's really not that bad.
Until Next Time, Readers!