Last night I spent the evening transforming myself into a presentable human being.
Vacuumed the bedroom.
Washed some dishes.
Decluttered a bit.
Legs freshly shaved.
Chin hairs plucked.
Covered up my blonde roots.
Conditioning treatment on my flowing locks.
I even attempted to do something (anything) with these brows.
(I know the Lord is perfect in all his ways. But when I look at what He gave me for eyebrows, it does trigger a tinge of doubt.)
I was feeling fresh.
‘If bein’ fresh till death is a crime, I think it’s time for me to see the jury.’
– I commented into my mirror, regarding my freshness.
I climbed into bed,
Eager to wake in the morning and wear my new pleather jeggings and fancy red high heels.
I awoke in the middle of the night to the feeling of a spider running across my face.
Not just a feeling, guys.
A spider. Was on. My face.
‘This is the opposite of fresh. The jury needs to take a recess. Chamillionaire would be so disappointed in me.’
– I sighed while trying to keep my composure and refrain from reaching for the hatchet I keep under my mattress.
The room was dark so I couldn’t pinpoint the creature’s exact species.
It did have a gray cloud of death floating above it, so I remain convinced that it was a Bitey McDoom.
It disappeared from view almost instantly.
Where did it go?
Fight or Flight Mode: Engaged.
Pillows, blankets, mattresses, and giant stuffed caterpillars flew through the air as I attempted to draw the beast from it’s hiding spot.
– I snarled as I ransacked my own belongings like a feral raccoon.
It was to no avail.
Didn’t even pitch in for the heating bill.
Now I face a crossroads:
Where do I go from here?
Clearly my apartment (nay, all of Central Point) is wildly uninhabitable;
Especially after I release 6 bug bombs and a full can of Raid in my bedroom.
(As I’m sure you know, a ‘species’ is defined as a group of animals that can inner-breed and produce fertile offspring. During my research to find out if spiders are a ‘species’ or a ‘breed’ (I take the accuracy of my vocabulary in these posts very seriously.) I found that it is ‘unlikely’ that cross-breeding different types of spiders would be successful. Only ‘unlikely.’ This information gave way to a whole new league of horrors in my imagination.
‘I don’t have time for this! I need to get some sleep. I almost met death this evening. I need to look fresh tomorrow. What if I see the jury?!’
– I said out of desperation when Jesus refused to give me some supernatural NyQuil or Xanax.)
Will I take this far enough to find out if one six-foot princess can sleep soundly in the back of a Ford Fiesta?
Will I impulsively buy a house and some cows and a slew of miniature and useless animals?
Will I simply move back into my bedroom and cry a lot and trust that the dominion the good Lord gave me over the animals will be enough to protect me?
😉 🙂 😀