A spider with legs too long for my liking creeps down the bathroom wall. It sets up camp, half its body in the doorframe’s crease, the other half sprawled on grey tile.
Disliking the idea of the eight-legged creature so close, I consider options. Glass and paper to usher it out? A well-aimed slipper? Bug spray sitting unused in the other room?
This means I’ll have to let the spider out of my sight. It’s a risk, but images of bugs in ears and thin legs crawling menacingly over skin bolster my resolve.
Hurrying to retrieve the spray, I barely wonder if my choice is right.
Tccccccchhhhhhhhh. Tccccccccchhhhh. Tcchhhh. Tch...
I spray discriminately until the spider’s contorted body falls to the bathroom floor.
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