Walking into my kitchen, I was privy to a spine-tingling sight. An enormous spider, looming over the precipice of my porcelain sink.
I froze. True movement undetectable, his body somehow seemed to shift in awareness of my presence.
Think, Stacie, think. My eyes scanned the counter-tops, neighboring shelves and barely-out-of-reach table slash accompanying benches.
Marble rolling pin? Too cumbersome.
Candlestick holder? Concave base.
Infinite Jest? Seriously? No.
Sh*t.
I refused to break eye-contact with the skeletal creature. (Assuming those minuscule rifts in texture harbored his creepy little peepers.) I sensed his increasing restlessness.
In my peripheral, I spotted one of my ShoeMint wedges. That’ll do. (Please let it do.)
I grabbed the shoe by its suede upper, grateful for its appropriately excessive platform.
Two hands. Sweaty, yet solid, grip. Arms shaking at a rate nearing vibration. I slowly raised my weapon of choice over the arachnid’s inch and a half claim of land.
Teeth clenched. Chin quivering. I quietly urged the newly anointed Pillar of Death down, toward its prey.
The spider scrambled forward violently, leaping to the floor, barely escaping his crushing fate. (You’re welcome.)
Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I surrendered to instinct. I felt my right leg swing forward with electricity, capturing my potential attacker just as he was about to scurry into the depths of the woodwork.
Did I get him? Is he dead? I slowly dragged my foot back in to its point of origin, unwilling to risk the escape of my victim, had he somehow managed to survive the blow. Only as I saw his trail of death and severed appendages was I able to inhale an oxygenating breath of inexplicable relief.
What now? I reluctantly collected the scattered pieces of his mutilated corpse in a handful of paper towels and decided to leave a small section of sticky spider death juice behind momentarily, as a warning for any of his kin that might still be lurking in the area. It’s not safe for you tonight, b*tches.
3 minutes passed.
Momentarily forgetting the entire saga, I stepped right on top of the remains.
…
Smooth like butter.