Reason 554 for owning one’s own crutches…

For when heap big nasty spider appears on your ceiling round about bedtime and you need something sturdy, with a base more than an inch wide, with good reach so you can take out the big hairy beast in one tactical strike.

* * *

So yeah, I’m getting ready for bed and, bleary eyed because I’ve just slipped off my glasses, I happen to glance across the room and see a shadow of something on my ceiling.

‘Oh, this is not going to be good,’ I say to no one in particular.

So, as Dvorak’s pianist lilts away on a Humoresque, I go in search of something in my home to slay the beast (of which there was nothing humorous about!). Yay for having crutches because, hey, they fit all of the above stipulations with the added bonus of something I don’t have to fool with very often. See, while I did kill the spider (which was about 1″ long in the body and 3″ if you include the leg spans) by merciless squishing and then drowned him/her in the sink for good measure, and the drowning rinsed off the crutch tip followed by a Clorox wipe for good measure, I’m still thinking the halflife of spider cooties is fairly long and glad to be able to put the crutch away for a while.

Was I not clear when I said I was too busy for company last night?

And why is it that even I, when faced with an icky creature in the presence of other more testosterone-laden beings, will switch into damsel in distress mode but when alone I just take care of business? Granted, I suppose I *could* have traipsed upstairs to ask my neighbor to help but, ya know, I’m thinking that it might have come off a little strange to say ‘Hey there, I’ve got a spider in my bedroom that needs slaying, do you have a strong pole that’ll do the job?’