Contemplating
My Own Mortality
I'm
pretty sure I'm not going to die of a heart attack.
So
last night I was a little early going to bed – nothing much else to
do, so I figured I'd turn in early. Since I had about 20 minutes
before my “scheduled” sleep time, I thought I'd enjoy the luxury
of reading in bed for a while. All was well till I started to put my
iPad on the bedside table to snuggle down at 11 pm.
As
I reached for the table, an extremely large, huge black spider leapt
over the edge of the covers, right toward my face. I said,
“Ooo,” and gently flicked him onto the floor. What? You don't
believe me? Well, really!
OK,
I screamed bloody murder, beat at the tiny arachnid (probably 1/2"
toe to toe), knocked him on to the floor, fought off the covers –
still yelling, and finally – my heart pounding like a jackhammer -
struggled out of bed. The wise spider (who likely did have a heart
attack, if spiders have hearts, which I seriously doubt!) had
disappeared.
So
now the dilemma is: Do I get back in that bed or not? I pulled all
the covers off over the end of the bed, one by one. No spider. I
checked the pillows and the dust ruffle. Don't even ask if I looked
under the dust ruffle – my Mama didn't raise a dummy, you know. I
remade the bed and went for the Raid. I sprayed the carpet all the
way around the bed and on the wall over my head, just in case.
Which,
of course, created an unbelievably noxious vapor. But that's OK, no
nasty spider could live through THAT. So that's all good. Only of
course, neither can a petite, frail, helpless old gramma, either.
What? You're not buying that? Well, really!
But
salvation was just around the corner – ah, ha! - there is a guest
room bed. So I had held my breath; grabbed my robe, iPad and cell
phone/alarm clock; slammed the door shut; and headed for the spare
room.
Where
a month's worth of unfolded towels, sheets and duvet covers were
piled higgly-piggly all over the king size bed.
I
finally got the lights turned out at 1:40 AM.
What
I am going to die of, is frustration.
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