Arachnophobia

Spiders have invaded our home. Ick! Blech! I hate, hate, HATE spiders! A silver-dollar sized brown spotty spider attacked me in the kitchen last night and met a squishy death by hardback Chuck Palahniuk novel. It was a library book so I had to clean off the spider gunk. Gross!

A few hours later, a second brown spotty spider (even BIGGER than the first) scuttled across the living room and toward my desk. Bosley freaked out and tried to catch it--but forced it right across my foot. I yelped and jumped up, knocking over my chair. Bosley chased the spider toward a lamp. The lamp crashed to the ground, snagging my printer cord and yanking the printer down with it. Dozens of sheets of pink paper flew through the air. Together, we cornered the spider, Bosley snarling, me jumping and squeeing. I slapped the spider with a cookbook. Whack! Whack. Whack! Die, Spider, Die!

Now. You would think all this commotion would have woken Dave. Yeah. Not so much. He slept through all of this, the crashing furniture, Bosley's bark, my shrieks of terror, and books slamming into walls and carpet. Yes. I feel so safe having Dave in the house.

Gah.