Poetic Princess license

The spider count is now three. Three spiders in my house. I can’t sleep knowing they’re about.

It started with the bathtub spider. He’s dead, but he probably had friends.

bathrub spider

 

There was the spider on the stairs. He got away when I flicked on the lights.

House-Spider

 

Then there was the spider on the hallway wall. This one was brave, he stared me down. He’s the reason I didn’t do laundry last week.

hallway spider

I think we need to go away for a week and hire an exterminator to come in and purge the house. My husband seems to think I am over reacting and exaggerating the potential risks associated of a ‘few’ common house spiders.  I think I am painting an accurate picture of our current household situation, but he thinks I am taking poetic license with my risk assessment.

So I thought I would compromise. I suggested we get a panic button in the bathroom so the next time an eight legged assassin emerges from my bathwater I can sound the alarm. Then my husband, who thinks I am exaggerating the risks, can run upstairs and rid me of the beastly thing.

My husband agreed, with one caveat. That I don’t use the alarm when I just want a cup of tea while I bathe.

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Hmmmmm

 

Well, I can’t honestly promise that so I guess I just have learn to live with the arachnid invasion.

 

 

 

 

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Why do the righteous suffer?

I hope I can write this blog mashing the keyboard like a leper. My left hand is a stub – wrapped in a wet towel and I SWEAR there is STEAM coming off it.

better arm wrap

How did this happen, you ask?

Well, we entertained last night. We threw a soirée. You know how much I love to give of myself. I slaved all day to make sure the maid got the house clean enough and the caterer got the food right. Honestly. I barely had time for my yoga. Or my manicure. Or my hair appointment.

So, this morning I got up and thought – I deserve some ME time.

I ran a hot bath. Then turned on the TV on the wall at the foot of the tub and put in an episode of Pretty Little Liars.

pretty-little-liars-books

It was lovely, I have to admit. However, all good things come to an end, and I had to get out in the end. So I reached over casually to get my towel, which had slipped from its rung. Rather than find a warm fluffy towel I found metal – hot metal. I scalded my hand on the heated towel rack.

What a way to end my gift to me!

Of course I should be used to the fact that good things don’t last, for me. But I can’t help but wonder in what way I have offended god.

I feel like Job.

JOB