Gimmeoxygen's Blog

January 21, 2010

The Squeal in Aisle Three

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ruby Dabling @ 4:48 pm
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Yesterday, while I was grocery shopping, I sauntered down aisle three in search of honey not knowing the drama that would ensue from this act.  The honey I wanted wasn’t stocked.  There were two lonely bottles waaaaay at the back of the shelf, so I stuck my trusting, little paw in to claim one, and – when I did – a SPIDER ran over my hand, up my arm and into the sleeve of my coat.

I squealed.  I shrieked.  I was so busy screaming, “Oh!  Oh!  Oh!” while shaking my arm, peeling my coat off, and leaping up and down doing the Eek!  It’s a Spider! dance that I didn’t realize what was happening in front of me.

I don’t know what kind of a noise I made when the spider assaulted me.  It was shrill, and it was loud.  It was, in fact, startling enough to cause the woman in front of me to drop, and shatter, the jar of blueberry preserves she’d been holding.  A large chunk of the glass bounced up, and embedded itself deep into the calf of her leg.  She was shrieking and bleeding, I was shrieking and dancing…everyone else was, of course, staring.

Lady, I am sorry that you were hurt.  It’s obvious you needed a suture or two, and I feel terrible about that.  I wish I could have apologized on the spot, but, you see, it wasn’t my fault – you’ve got to blame the spider that attacked me.  I would have been more attentive to your distress, but I was preoccupied because I didn’t know where the spider went.  I wanted to strip down on the spot.  I was sure that it was, still, in my clothes.  This is why I was slapping myself and Oh, God!ing instead of paying attention to the small river of blood that was running down your leg into your gray suede pumps.  My fear of those eight-legged terrorists is greater than the need to observe social graces.  Besides, you were the one the store manager trundled off to be fussed-over and taken care of.  I was the one left to look like the neurotic geek I am – still slapping, still jiggling, still convinced I had a fat, juicy brown recluse lurking in my clothing (I live in fear of the brown recluse as  it is so common out here, and so many people I know have been bitten by the nasty, venomous things).

I, then, behaved in the mature manner one would expect of me.  I abandoned my cart, ran to my car, drove home like a bat out of hell, stripped my clothing off, and jumped into the shower…all the while Oh, God!ing like the maniac that I am.

Yeah, I’m a warrior, all right…  As long as we aren’t talking about spiders, I will kick ass.

Now, I have to go to the grocery store – I think I’ll go to a different one today where I’m not quite so fresh in the memory of any of the staff who saw me – and I will do my best to maintain a low profile…….


October 24, 2009

Never Trust Anything with Eight Legs

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ruby Dabling @ 8:22 pm
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Dear Mr. Spider,

Even though I’m phobic, I’ve let you live on the windowsill above the kitchen sink.  True, I was going to kill you, but I saw you’d captured the little fly who’d been aggravating me for a few days, and I have to admit I was grateful for that.  Against my better judgement, I didn’t disturb you.  I’ve been keeping an eye on you, though.  A close eye.

The day you ventured from the window to perch on my dogs’ treat  jar, I used a popsicle stick to persuade you to return to your rightful place, and I thought that the talk we had made it quite clear that I wasn’t going to tolerate you gallivanting all over the house doing spidery things behind my back.  I thought you and I had come to an accord on that, and I might not be versed in the language of arachnids, but I do believe you gave me you word you’d stay within the boundaries of your territory.

Well, this morning I was making coffee and noticed you’d abandoned your post and are off godknowswhere doing godknowswhat.  To my credit, I didn’t immediately freak out and soak every inch of my hovel with bug spray while doing the Eek!  Is That a Spider? dance, but I’m giving you fair notice that our agreement, such as it was, is, now, void, and I reserve the right to stomp your brown, fuzzy ass into mashed mush if I see you lurking about.


The Lady in the Size Six Spider-Stomping Shoes

P.S.  In the event you’ve crawled off somewhere to die, or to hibernate through the long winter, ignore this notice and accept my humble apologies.

(The problem, though, is that I keep thinking he is out somewhere rounding up all his spider friends to spend the winter here in my Bug Hostel…ACK!)

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