I am not a fan of spiders. I may even have a bit of a phobia. It's not a good affliction to have when you're at Lake Powell. Especially when your boat sits vacant for any period of time. Those 8-legged fuckers just take over. Which is exactly what happened on our trip. There were spiders EVERYWHERE! Big ones, little ones, hairy ones, deadly-looking ones. All creepy ones. No matter how many you smash or brush away from the rafters, rails and walls, inevitably when you wake up in the morning, there they are lurking in their freshly made webs, sipping some of your Starbucks coffee and snacking on gnat guts.
I try to remember Charlotte's Web. Not matter how icky they look, these spiders are not evil killers after my blood or bodily host for their swarms of next generation creepies. They are just trying to get a decent meal. The webs are artistic, architectural masterpieces that look lovely in the sun. IF you can get over the nasty-ass spider loitering in the center.
After a few sleepless nights where every random hair tickle on your face jolts you out of bed clawing frantically to swipe away what you hope are imaginary spiders, and dreams filled with creepy crawly 8-legged night stalkers over-running the bed, and a baby (luckily not ours) with a tell-tale spider bite on her neck, I would smash the shit out of Charlotte. I don't care what she's writing in that web.
Okay. That's a lie. I would make Scott do it.
No comments:
Post a Comment