So I was sitting on the toilet...
(Sorry for the TMI, but let's be honest, don't all the really great stories start that way?)
...when I noticed a gigantic black spider creeping it's way across the bathroom ceiling towards my position. I stared and stared, sure that if I looked away for a tiny moment, I'd miss the part where he rushed me. (I'm not fond of surprise attacks by insects.) It was an intense five minutes, let me tell you. Afraid I'd be caught with my pants down, so to speak, I had a hard time with the toilet paper, while that colossal arachnid crept closer and closer.
Finally, I jumped up, ready to do battle. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a single weapon that would be useful while he held the upper ground. I did consider getting the broom from the pantry, but that would require leaving my reconnaissance post, and that would have been completely unacceptable. After all, who would be left to guard my bedroom doorway if I went AWOL? We all know that a renegade spider loose in the bedroom may be the only thing worse than one loose in the bathroom. I quickly took my eyes from the enemy just long enough to perform a sweeping search of the available weaponry, and I found a small pile of ponytail holders in reach. AHA!
I positioned a band on my right index finger and pulled back with my left hand, aiming for the ceiling. Twang! The cloth-covered rubber shot from my finger tips and thwacked against the ceiling. The spider flinched and then froze in place. I quickly grabbed another hair band and repeated my actions. Thwack, thwack. The band hit the ceiling near the spider and ricocheted against the wall before falling to the counter top. I shot again. And again. And again.
I really impressed myself with my aim. In our family rubber band fights, I can't hit a human target for the life of me, but several of these shots hit so close to the spider that only the fact that he hadn't fallen or lost a limb told me I'd missed. After several rounds of ammunition had been spent, I decided to call in the big guns. I grabbed a nearby hand towel and launched it at the ceiling. It hit, my aim way off, and landed on the light fixture over the bathroom mirror. I reached up and snatched it down before the spider could regroup or drop on me, and I launched it again.
This time, my aim was spot on, and the spider and towel fell almost gently together. On its way down, the towel hung itself on the air freshener plugged into the wall and draped its lower half into Jeremy's sink. I waited breathlessly for the spider to come running out of its protecting folds, but he was too smart for me. He remained hidden.
I had to stop for a re-strategizing meeting. Once I'd gotten my new very risky orders, I took several steps back so my body was as far from the counter as possible. Then with my fingertips, I quickly (so as not to get crawled on) and gently (to prevent excessive towel swinging) picked up the towel and dropped it to the floor a few feet away from where I stood.
I tried to watch two points at once, the counter top where the towel had been and the floor where the towel was now. Neither revealed a crawly creature. I even quickly eyeballed the air freshener to see if it was giving refuge to the enemy. Nothing there either, so I knew that he must still be lurking in the folds of the towel.
Again, I waited. Again, the spider outsmarted me.
I became brave enough to bend, allowing my face within eyesight range, and I searched every centimeter of the top of that towel before declaring it clear of enemy presence. Then with my fingertips again, just as quickly and just as gently, I flipped the towel and examined the other side.
No spider there either.
In puzzlement, I pondered the situation -- never taking my eyes from that towel in case my nemesis might use that moment of weakness to make good his escape. I reviewed all moves and counter-moves, on the lookout for times or means of escape that the spider may have seized during the course of our battle. I found none. At least none plausible enough to really investigate.
Finally, certain that his only hiding place could be that towel, I bravely trampled it. Back and forth, missing nary a fiber, I trampled it. Then I trampled it again. The entire time, I remained on the lookout for a fleeing invader. Afterwards, I gingerly flipped the towel over again, searching for a crushed corpse, or a stray leg, or a wet smudge on the tile floor, anything to indicate the terminated presence of my foe.
I found nothing. He has vanished.
And I want to know, who is going to stand guard so I can try to sleep tonight?
Click here to read Part Two.
(Sorry for the TMI, but let's be honest, don't all the really great stories start that way?)
...when I noticed a gigantic black spider creeping it's way across the bathroom ceiling towards my position. I stared and stared, sure that if I looked away for a tiny moment, I'd miss the part where he rushed me. (I'm not fond of surprise attacks by insects.) It was an intense five minutes, let me tell you. Afraid I'd be caught with my pants down, so to speak, I had a hard time with the toilet paper, while that colossal arachnid crept closer and closer.
Finally, I jumped up, ready to do battle. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a single weapon that would be useful while he held the upper ground. I did consider getting the broom from the pantry, but that would require leaving my reconnaissance post, and that would have been completely unacceptable. After all, who would be left to guard my bedroom doorway if I went AWOL? We all know that a renegade spider loose in the bedroom may be the only thing worse than one loose in the bathroom. I quickly took my eyes from the enemy just long enough to perform a sweeping search of the available weaponry, and I found a small pile of ponytail holders in reach. AHA!
I positioned a band on my right index finger and pulled back with my left hand, aiming for the ceiling. Twang! The cloth-covered rubber shot from my finger tips and thwacked against the ceiling. The spider flinched and then froze in place. I quickly grabbed another hair band and repeated my actions. Thwack, thwack. The band hit the ceiling near the spider and ricocheted against the wall before falling to the counter top. I shot again. And again. And again.
I really impressed myself with my aim. In our family rubber band fights, I can't hit a human target for the life of me, but several of these shots hit so close to the spider that only the fact that he hadn't fallen or lost a limb told me I'd missed. After several rounds of ammunition had been spent, I decided to call in the big guns. I grabbed a nearby hand towel and launched it at the ceiling. It hit, my aim way off, and landed on the light fixture over the bathroom mirror. I reached up and snatched it down before the spider could regroup or drop on me, and I launched it again.
This time, my aim was spot on, and the spider and towel fell almost gently together. On its way down, the towel hung itself on the air freshener plugged into the wall and draped its lower half into Jeremy's sink. I waited breathlessly for the spider to come running out of its protecting folds, but he was too smart for me. He remained hidden.
I had to stop for a re-strategizing meeting. Once I'd gotten my new very risky orders, I took several steps back so my body was as far from the counter as possible. Then with my fingertips, I quickly (so as not to get crawled on) and gently (to prevent excessive towel swinging) picked up the towel and dropped it to the floor a few feet away from where I stood.
I tried to watch two points at once, the counter top where the towel had been and the floor where the towel was now. Neither revealed a crawly creature. I even quickly eyeballed the air freshener to see if it was giving refuge to the enemy. Nothing there either, so I knew that he must still be lurking in the folds of the towel.
Again, I waited. Again, the spider outsmarted me.
I became brave enough to bend, allowing my face within eyesight range, and I searched every centimeter of the top of that towel before declaring it clear of enemy presence. Then with my fingertips again, just as quickly and just as gently, I flipped the towel and examined the other side.
No spider there either.
In puzzlement, I pondered the situation -- never taking my eyes from that towel in case my nemesis might use that moment of weakness to make good his escape. I reviewed all moves and counter-moves, on the lookout for times or means of escape that the spider may have seized during the course of our battle. I found none. At least none plausible enough to really investigate.
Finally, certain that his only hiding place could be that towel, I bravely trampled it. Back and forth, missing nary a fiber, I trampled it. Then I trampled it again. The entire time, I remained on the lookout for a fleeing invader. Afterwards, I gingerly flipped the towel over again, searching for a crushed corpse, or a stray leg, or a wet smudge on the tile floor, anything to indicate the terminated presence of my foe.
I found nothing. He has vanished.
And I want to know, who is going to stand guard so I can try to sleep tonight?
Click here to read Part Two.
|
"Shadows move when you're not looking."
-Babylon 5
This was an awesome tell of an encounter. I loved it. I know you aren't ready for this but I can't wait until part 2.