This week has been a PITA from beginning to end. Dead car battery, naughty kittens, stupid vets - more details can be found here.
Now I'd like to share the irony of last night. I hate cooking - really, really do. Not that I don't appreciate home cooked meals...I just hate the cooking part. I want a replicator like they have on Star Trek. That would be fantastic, but I digress.
Yesterday, I decided that Chicken Marsala sounds delicious - so I went to the store, got some Marsala and mushrooms and started to cook. That was my first mistake. As the chicken was browning, I noticed something awful. There was a hugeass, hairy spider right above my head.
You have to understand - I hate spiders with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns. I fear them as much as I fear clowns. Somone I know once said that spiders are not hatched from eggs. They're unique - handcrafted by Satan himself each one as individual as a snowflake. In fact, she calls them Satan's Snowflakes.
So I've got one of Satan's special, special snowflakes above my head while I'm trying to cook and the damn thing it literally following me around the kitchen. Taunting me. Seriously. I'd stand by the stove, it would skitter across the ceiling to hang above my head. I'd move to the sink, the bastard would follow me. We did this repeatedly while I tried to make supper. Spider tag all around the kitchen.
Unfortunately my kids wouldn't get rid of it for me because it was hairy and my husband was still at work. I called him on his cell to find out when the hell he'd be home. The conversation went like this.
Him answering the phone: Hey hon. I'm not dead in a ditch somewhere - I'm still at work.
Me: Actually, I didn't call about your ditch status. When are you coming home?
Him: Probably not for at least an hour. Why?
Me: Because there's a giant fucking spider stalking me while I'm trying to cook.
Him: I'm sure it's not stalking you.
Me: Don't patronize me! It's totally stalking me. I think it wants me dead...or it really hates Chicken Marsala.
Him: I'm not patronizing you, but you do realize you're attributing conscious thought to a spider, right?
Me: What part of it's a spider don't you understand? Satan's snowflakes? Seriously, it's following me around the kitchen.
(At this point I hear muffled laughter and realize I'm on speaker phone. GUH!!!!)
Him: Have the boys take care of it.
Me: It has fur - they're not going near it.
Him: I promise - I'll get it as soon as I get home.
He did indeed catch the spider and put it outside where it belongs and I'm currently spider free. However, I think there's a lesson to be learned from all of this and that lesson is I shouldn't cook. Because spiders will get me.