|"Oh, you're enjoying summer? Let me ruin that for you."|
I hope you all had a fantastic holiday weekend. As predicted, all Kellermans sat around, over-ate, and watched Husband set off smoke bombs, paper chickens, and tiny tanks in the backyard.
My sincerest apologies if your fourth wasn't filled with enough flammable, paper chickens.
In addition to the hoopla, renovations to the Split level continued and more spackle was spackled. And, with the exception of the two drawer fronts that keep falling off, I finally finished the cabinets in the kitchen. Now all that's left is to level the entire house, rebuild it, and we should have something awesome to put on the market.
Wait, I need to adjust my music station. It's supposed to be solid gold seventies, but there's been a little too much James Taylor and Carly Simon to induce any type of real party feelings in my soul.
Now then, let's talk about how I'm being attacked. Not that I love playing the victim, but this summer is slowly spinning out of control in the spider department.
*This area reserved for anyone who needs to shudder uncontrollably.*
Be brave. I need you to should on with me. Someone needs to stand by my side while I wax horrified about the recent events on the home front. Those of you who've been with me for a while know I like a spider about as much as I like someone else's spoon in my jar of Nutella. But does that stop them from showing up?
Does Nicholas Cage keep making films?
Exactly. And at this point, I'd rather see Nicholas Cage in my bathtub than one of those hairy, little freaks. This summer, they've been everywh-
No, I was fairly indifferent about National Treasure.
They've been in my bedroom, in the hallway, on the ceiling. I even had to stop this post so I could go kill a striped one that had taken up residence on the baby's toy truck.
"You think you can get that close to my son?"
"Not today, you son of a... Do I look like Sally Field in An Eye For An Eye sans ball cap to you? Because I should."
*Sounds of a Stride Rite dealing out justice.*
I've been killing spiders left and right, right and left. Right and left again because I'm right hand dominant. Do you know what it's like to be reading on the couch while kids jump all over you, and then a spider hast he gall to show up in your window? Just as inconvenient as it sounds.
And then you can't remember what page you're on.
After which, you're pretty sure you'll just quit reading altogether.
But are you really going to let a spider stop the constant pursuit of furthering education through the literary arts?
I'm doing battle on a lot of fronts right now. I have operation "Spray spider who lives at the top of sliding, glass door with Windex, until he shows his face" going on, while, at the same time, trying to save enough Windex to actually clean the door. But nothing compared to what I had to do last week.
Husband: So, what'd you do today?
Me: I did battle.
Me: I had to clean the front porch. Turned the hose on the house. Big mistake.
Husband: Why's that?
Me: You ever watch Henry V? Huge casualties. Only half of us spoke English.
Husband: Are you talking about spiders again?
Me: They scattered. I pursued. That power nozzle means business. Surveillance tells me there's still one living at the top of the doorway, but I fell back on grounds it wasn't worth spraying the entire kitchen down.
Husband: Spiders aren't that bad. Just leave them be and they'll leave you alone.
Me: Suuuure. Can you tell me what page I was on?
So battle continues. Trashcans, living room, basement. It's all become a little unsettling. But I'm going to take a page from Nicholas Cage and just keep trying. Enjoy your Tuesday, guys. If you need me, I'll be the crazy lady swinging a broom at the mailbox.
Until Next Time, Readers!
Until Next Time, Readers