First, some business. If you enjoy the show “So You Think You Can Dance” you can check out my recaps for it here at the L.A. Times. Also, I am still accepting your suggestions for awesomest/strangest parades.
Listen up, spiders. I’m just passing this message on to you, so don’t get mad, okay? But when you’re at my house, certain people (Steve) expect a little bit of cooperation. You know what I’m talking about, right? Are you going to make me spell this out?
Fine. Picture it. Last Wednesday night, I’m waiting for Steve to come to bed when I notice a stirring on the wall. Steve enters the bedroom.
ME: There’s a spider on the wall.
STEVE (Jumping): What?!
ME: (Pointing at the wall).
STEVE: Holy kittens! [Ed: A word other than “kittens” was used]. That thing’s huge.
ME: It’s not going to hurt you.
STEVE:Yes it is! Look at how big it is! It’s obviously deadly.
ME: It’s not going to, like, jump out and get you. Just leave it alone.
ME: [Giving him a kleenex box]: Just smash it then.
STEVE (strikes what we will call, for storytelling’s sake, a single, manly, productive blow at the wall, killing the offending spider instantly, and not with several cringing little lady-swipes.)
STEVE: Why did it have to come to my—
ME: Were you just going to ask why the spider went your side of the bed instead of mine?
STEVE: Yes. I mean, no.
ME: That’s nice.
STEVE (still traumatized): Gah! I let a daddy long-legs live earlier today when I found one in the office. And this is how the spider community repays me.
So, spiders, you get the message? I read Charlotte’s Web. You and I are cool (unless I see one of you on my pillow.) But if one of us (Steve) catches you out in the open, you better send an email to the rest of your cronies in our house to hide away or else we’ll have a rerun of that unfortunate scene, and I for one don’t want any more bug parts on my kleenex box or furthermore, think about how I’m married to a guy who is afraid of spiders.