Last night Erin and I decided we'd spend the evening on the front porch to enjoy what was left of the beautiful day. We each grabbed our seats, were joined by the dogs, Pandora on the laptop and a bottle of wine. And then that bottle of wine turned into two.
We deserved it, we said. We are tough, marathon-running bitches. (OK, neither of us actually said we were bitches, but we're tough). Dammit. So give us wine.
Suddenly 8:30 turned into 11 turned into midnight. I was no longer sober. At all.
With my back to the porch railing, I hardly noticed the bulbous spider that was working its way toward me. Thing was gross. Like, bulb-y, OK? Normal sober Krista would've flipped her shit. Because both normal and abnormal Krista hate spiders.
Instead, I just slowly turn my head (that was a lot of wine) (must move slowly) and look at the thing that is now three inches from me. Am I high? Erin, who's across the way, is having an appropriate reaction. Namely, "OMFG SPIDER."
I'm all, heeeeeey spider.
What I should do is a) freak the hell out, b) squeal and run, and c) swat at it with the nearest object because IT'S A BULBOUS SPIDER all up in my space.
What I do is look at it. Hi, spider. Let my eyes wander the porch, lazily, for an object appropriate for spider shooing. Meanwhile, dude's all, I'm going to EAT you. Because I am a spider.
Erin's still appropriately reacting, and I stumble out of my chair (a lot of wine) (wow, I've been sitting in this chair a loooong time) and grab a shoe. And then I flick, gently, Mr. Spiderous Bulbous off the railing. Not even a smoosh. Not even a shriek.
It was a completely zen spider exterminating experience.
Spider probably didn't even die. He probably just wafted slowly to the earth, all, thanks, ma'am, that felt good.
Crisis averted. Spider gone. I didn't die.
I need to drink more often.