I think it's been well established that I do not like bugs. Not at all. Well, it's fall, and the eight legged creatures are making their way into the house. I keep telling Jim that they are trying to kill me, because they always show up by MY chair, not his. Freak me out, but fortunately, the man loves me and he gets up and takes care of them. Sure, he's usually either laughing or rolling his eyes at me, but he takes care of them.
Today, I spent the afternoon cleaning out the garage, which entailed organizing stuff from boxes, consolidating, and throwing stuff away, then finding a place for it in the house. At one point, I wandered by my chair, and bent over to pick up a thread that I saw on the ottoman. Only, it wasn't a thread -- it was a big ass spider, crawling right toward my chair. Fortunately, there was a slipper nearby, so I smashed the heck out of it. Grabbed a Kleenex and sent that sucker to sea.
Or so I thought.
More specifically, I tossed it into the toilet with the kleenex and flushed. Jim came home later, we chatted, and off I went to go potty. And guess what? That spider was still there in the pot. Sure, it looked dead, but given the fact that it had last been seen crushed into a kleenex, how was it now here, sans tissue? What. The. Heck. So I did what someone would do when one wants a spider dead -- I peed on it. And flushed. Damn thing swirled around and DID NOT GO DOWN. So I waited, then flushed again, holding the handle of the potty down for good measure. STILL NOT GONE.
So, I spoke to my beloved, took him by the hand and explained what I have been trying to tell him for weeks now: these spiders want to kill me, and some, if not all, are zombies. Seriously. How does a spider survive three flushes? At which point, the man looked me in the eye and flushed.
That damn thing went down the drain like a five year old on a water slide.
Proving, once again, that if you want to deal with a zombie spider, send a Marine.