SCREAMING LIKE A BABY . . .

Immediately after my last post, I leaned back in my chair to put some eyedrops in my eyeballs, looked up at the ceiling, and saw the juiciest spider evah -- yes, EVAH -- staring back at me, taunting me as if to say "I am going to stay here as long as you stare at me. I am going to out-stare you because eventually you will have to go to the bathroom. When you go to the bathroom, I am going to lower myself from this ceiling and (a) you will either walk right into me and freak out; or (b) you won't see me anymore and freak out because you will imagine me crawling through your clothes or into your purse or into your bed or around your bookshelves." Yes, the juicy spider said all of this, and was very vicious about it too.

What is a 20-something, post-graduate-educated, intelligent, ambitious, strong, stubborn, first-born woman to do? Remain seated and alternately feel panic, disgust and nausea, natch.

Finally, I had enough. I grabbed the heaviest magazine I could find in my room -- sorry, Real Simple, but as you are neither a light-weight magazine nor really simplifying, you were the chosen one. I hopped up onto my bed, took a deep fortifying breath, and horizontally SLAPPED Real Simple onto the ceiling as hard as I could manage, fully expecting that Juicy would be smooshed and stuck onto the magazine, which would fall flat onto the floor, from which I could gingerly pick it up with just two fingers and deposit it in the recycling bin downstairs. Most of that happened.

The violent horizontal slap worked out very well. It did indeed kill Juicy. Unfortunately, while Real Simple fell flat on the floor as intended, Juicy was left hanging onto the ceiling by one pathetic little leg. Also, Real Simple left a two-inch-long gouge/mark on my ceiling. Rats. As I hopped down from the bed and stared up -- open-mouthed, of course -- at the gouge and the stuck spider, it fell. Yes, the dead spider FELL. It missed my open mouth by mere centimeters. I, naturally, SCREAMED LIKE A BANSHEE. It was the most shrill, most spontaneous, most fearful scream ever to have been sent forth from my mouth.

And it was completely ignored by Omma and Gran, chatting in the room next door. Sheesh.

Well, long story short, after some verification as to Juicy's actual deceased state, I wadded up about three Kleenex and picked up his lifeless form, smooshed it some more for good measure and buried it in my trash can. The gut-smeared Real Simple, the heavy December volume, went into the recycling bin, cover facing down just in case. And I ... well, I laughed at myself and decided I just needed to share that with you all.

Don't you shudder to think that one of these days, I want to be out there fighting crime?!

***

Courtesy of the Chief of Staff, I give you the following latest-thing-being-passed-around-on-email. This is particularly meaningful to us given our residencies, our recent trip to balmy Florida, and our fanatical and irrational devotion to our Boys, the New York Yankees. Enjoy:

New England Temperature Conversion Chart
...60° F: Southern Californians shiver uncontrollably. People in New England sunbathe.
...50° F: New Yorkers try to turn on the heat. People in New England plant gardens.
...40° F: Italian & English cars won't start. People in New England drive with the windows down.
...32° F: Distilled water freezes. The water at Moosehead Lake in Maine starts getting cooler.
...20° F: Floridians don coats, thermal underwear, gloves, wool hats. People in New England throw on a flannel shirt, buttons open.
...15° F: New York City landlords finally turn up the heat. People in New England have the last cookout before it gets cold.
...0° F: All the people in Miami die . New Englanders close the windows.
...10° below zero: Californians escape en masse to Mexico. Girl Scouts in New England sell cookies door to door.
... 25° below zero: Las Vegas disintegrates. People in New England rummage around the attic to find some winter coats.
...40° below zero: Washington DC runs out of hot air. People in New England let the dogs sleep indoors.
...100° below zero: Santa Claus abandons the North Pole. Some New Englanders are frustrated when they can't start their "kahs".
...460° below zero (absolute zero on the Kelvin Scale): All atomic motion stops. People in New England start saying "Cold 'nuff for ya?"
...500° below zero: Hell freezes over. Red Sox win World Series.

Bah-rum-bum. Thank you, thank you, the 10 o' clock will be different from the 8 o' clock.