I’m in one of those pissy moods where everyone is getting on my nerves and I’m immediately jumping to concluding that anyone who does anything remotely in my vicinity is either 1. mean to me, 2. incredibly stupid, or 3. completely ignoring me. Which last is what I would do to myself in this mood, so I’m hoping I shake it off.
This morning, however, I spent some quality time in my bathroom with the worst spider ever. And I don’t mean “worst” as in “biggest” or “scariest” or “nastiest.” I mean that this spider was just plain bad at his job. He sucked at being a spider.
(I take a moment to note that the following anecdote did not occur from my fondness for spiders, but rather from my dislike of them. I knew I wasn’t going to be in that room again for a while, so I would rather keep a close watch on him from afar and hope he was gone when I returned than have to get close enough to him to squish or trap him.)
He was trying to climb up the wall in the bathroom. Which I don’t think is terribly difficult, if you’re a spider. After all, don’t they have sticky pads or something? I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention in biology. But Tobey Maguire had something that stuck him to the sides of buildings, so I’m assuming.
And he just couldn’t do it. He kept falling and having to climb back up on his little spider thread back to where he was, all frantic like, and then get his bearings back on the wall. But the next time he’d move, he’d fall right off the wall again. It really got to where I was feeling sorry for him, the poor little bastard. All the other spiders must make fun of him.
(Although hmm. That implies that there are “other spiders” in my bathroom. I’m kind of glad I didn’t have that thought in the bathroom this morning.)
Anyway, I watched him (from a safe distance) the whole time I got ready for work this morning, and he hardly got anywhere at all. Seriously, he was just bad at being him.