I climbed in the walk-in shower this morning. There I stood in my wrinkled old man birthday suit. For some reason I glanced up and there, in the corner, was a big old spider. I don’t know the breed, I’m no spiderologist, but I’m sure it was related to the tarantula family. If not directly, at least in the mafioso family way. I’m sure he had mischief on his early-morning mind.
I wondered how I was gonna kill him. He knew he was gonna kill me. The ceiling in our little shower is the same as all of the upstairs, eight foot. I couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t get to me to sink his poisonous fangs without getting wet. We had a standoff.
I kept an eye on him. I assume he kept 4 or 5 on me. The steam and damp from the shower got him moving. He crawled across the ceiling. He headed towards the top of the shower door. As I rinsed the shampoo from my head, he crawled around the corner. I was confident I could get him when I got out and had my boy parts safely tucked into my skivvies.
I dried off. I wiped down the walls. I exited the shower and started hunting.
The spider was nowhere to be found. Not above the tub. Not behind the decorative towels. Not behind the door. Not over by the sink. He was gone.
Now I’m sure he is lying in wait to ambush me when I mosey in that bathroom for my middle of the night old man pee.