I was sitting on the couch next to Atreyu playing spider solitaire–oh my God, I didn’t realize the hilarity of that until this moment–when I glanced down at my cleavage…
Stop judging me. I am wont to do that sometimes, as I assume lots of ladies are. Or maybe I’m special because my brain feels like a 12 year old boy. Whatever.
Anyway, I glanced down at my cleavage and noticed a tiny–almost adorable, really–spider making its way from Right Breast to Left. I promptly started sweating with the adrenaline rush and crushed it in my fingers and then fed it to Atreyu.
And then I had two thoughts:
You just fed your dog a probably radioactive–but not in the cool way, more like in a dead way–spider and now he’s going to die a violent death from that miniscule creature that you crushed while it was just trying to motorboat your tatties.
SPIDER INFESTATION!!! AAAAHHH!!!
Let me explain that second thought: about three weeks ago, as I was vacuuming the couch like the domestic goddess that I am—
—HAHAHAHHAHAHA, yeah, right.
Anyway, as I was vacuuming the couch I noticed a tiny–almost adorable, really–spider scampering across one of the back cushions. Being the gentle creature that I am, I vacuumed it up.
But now, three weeks later, I realize I have ignored the warning signs that my couch/house/building is INFESTED WITH TINY SPIDERS. I keep waiting for them to burst out of the couch like the chest burster in Aliens, albeit more spidery and less like a weird rollie pollie fetus. With teeth.
My third thought was: Whitney, you’re being ridiculous. Your house is not infested.
Followed quickly by the fourth thought: YOU HAVE TO BUY ALL NEW FURNITURE AND STERILIZE THE APARTMENT AND TAKE ATREYU TO THE VETS BECAUSE HE’S ABOUT TO HAVE AN ALIEN CHESTBURSTER OF LITTLE ALMOST ADORABLE SPIDERS AND IT WILL BE ALL YOUR FAULT AND YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO VACUUM THEM ALL UP.
Thanks, brain, for being a friend.