So we’re (I’ve just realized how many of my threads begin with, “So we’re” or “So I’m”) in the process of moving, and we need boxes. I’m a textbook sales rep, and since garages seem to be few and far between in SC, I work out of a storage unit. It appears to be a good idea to finally put up some steel shelves in the storage and bring the boxes home to pack with.
I head out to the storage unit with my shelves and my power screwdriver (grunt) to assemble and fill said shelves so that I can bring boxes home to fill with books, knick-knacks, crap we can’t bring ourselves to get rid of, and other assorted detritus. I open the garage-type door of the storage unit. I look down.
I see a lovely specimen of Black Widow flashing her hourglass at me.
Mind you, I’m not a wussy. Living in a house of women (wife, daughter, hamster, cat–the dog is the only other male, and he’s not, if you get my drift, completely macho), I am the designated bug-killer. But never in my life have I run across a critter that could possibly kill me. And not only is Mrs. Widow there, gnashing her fangs at me, but she has obviously committed arachnacide previously because there are two egg sacs in the web.
Spraying her with the ant-and-roach spray provided by the management of the mini-storage just pissed her off, but she ran out of the web long enough to get stomped. The egg sacs were then carried across the parking lot and mushed, both actions taken by an old cassette case.
My problem now, however, is that I keep feeling little critters crawling all over me. Is it my mind? Is it the ghosts of the little killers I mushed with the cassette case ("I feel dead spiders!)?
Either way, I won’t be returning to assemble the shelving for a couple of days until the exterminators spray all my books for deadly spiders.
Oooooogggggyyyyyy!