Thirty-Seconds Of Comedic Horror

About 3:20 AM, I wake up because I’ve gotta pee. Leave the lights off so I don’t wake up The Long-Suffering Wife, there’s just enough light coming from the window and the various digital clocks to see where I’m going. Carefully step into the bathroom where the dog is lying on the floor next to the toilet. She is not going to move or get up (this is not news) so I contort myself to find a way to stand over her and hover over the bowl, leaning against the far wall for support with one hand while “taking care of business” with the other. There’s a little more light in here.

Just after liquids start to flow, something is seen out of the corner of my eye, moving between me and the window. It’s dropping slowly, straight down. Before I have time to react or move, the spider lands on my shoulder.

Chaos ensues.

The sleep-addled brain fragments and freaks out with multiple conflicting and simultaneous goals. Get the spider off of me! Don’t pee on the dog! Stand up so that support arm can be used to battle the spider! Don’t step on the dog! Turn on the light so I can see the spider! Can’t do that, not enough arms! Don’t pee on the wall!

As my head jerks, it hits the web the spider was descending with, draping the single strand across my face, futher invoking reflexive flipping out by my out-of-control meat-sack body. Of course, all of this also alerts the spider to the fact that “Bad Things Are Happening!” so it starts scurrying down my naked body looking for an escape route.

This doesn’t help.

Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Don’t kick the dog! Spider! Spider! Spider! Don’t pee on the floor! Doing the spider dance while it runs down my back, but don’t move! Don’t fall down and break an arm, leg, skull, or anything else! Jeez louise, how much pee is there?! Where’s the spider, how huge is it, is it going to bite me? Pee, pee, pee! Dance, dance, dance! Twitch, twitch, twitch! Spider, spider, spider!

The spider now drops down onto the back of my leg, just below the knee. The leg muscles, already stressed from the awkward stance needed to lean over the dog to get over the toilet, now twitch involuntarily and go into a full-blown “charlie horse” cramp.

PAIN! Aaaaaaaahhhhh!!! Straighten the leg, stretch it out! But don’t move! Don’t scream! Don’t step on the dog! Don’t spray pee all over the room! Damn, that really hurts! Don’t you dare let the other the other leg cramp up too! Pain, pain, pain!

After a near eternity (ten to fifteen seconds, but all in super spider slo-mo) of panic, confusion, adrenaline, pain, and toilet training nightmares come to life, the flow of pee stops and the spider has fled. I can stand up, flip on the light, work out the leg cramp, and look for my long-gone arachnid archenemy.

No spider in sight, but definitely a web strand across my face. I wasn’t imagining it. Miraculously, no pee on the dog, on the floor, on the wall, on my foot, or on the ceiling.

The dog, of course, has slept through the whole ordeal, blissfully oblivious to the imminent catastrophe just inches away.

Once my leg stops cramping, I limp back to bed in the dark and crawl in. The Long-Suffering Wife stirs enough to mumble, “Everything okay?”

In the interest of brevity and the need to get back to sleep, let’s go with “Yes.” She can read this in the morning.