Spiders, when stepped on with bear foot, explode like grapes. "Splat" went somehting as I made the short journey from bathroom shower to bedroom table. It was a weird feeling under my right foot, the slight pop sound making the whole experience even more strange. I was almost in my room as I glanced over my shoulder to make out something small with what looked like legs sticking out to the side. A shiver went down my back. Sick. I think it was a spider. Yep, it was a spider. I just stepped on a spider. There were definitely spider juices on my foot. I hate spiders.
Unfortunately, the above was almost a wet dream compared to what happened to me last sunday. Cam and I were headed to Atlanta for a wedding. Time to break out the navy blue blazer. Wait, maybe I should go black blazer. No, the blue blazer is a little less formal--it's a southern, outdoor wedding. Yeah, definitely, I'll wear the blue blazer. Now, to get it out of the back, righthand corner of the closet. Put it on. Right hand in, push right arm through. Left hand in, push left arm through. That's weird. It feels like there are tiny, frayed threads at the end of the sleeve. My fingers peek out. Holy Sh-t!! I paused, then, furiously, I threw my hand like a lit firecracker with barely any fuse towards the ground. Encased in its own webbing at the end of my fingers was a Black Widow. It didn't bite me, thank God. It just sat there, scaring the crap out of me, preparing to meet its destiny, beneath my shoe. I killed that spider, but it nearly gave me a heart attack. Yet it wasn't really until after I had killed the thing that I was truly frightened. While it was on my hand I was merely acting on instinct. I didn't have time to think, just wanted to get that damned thing the hell away from me.
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