Life happens: The zombie apocalypse is worse than we thought
I don't want to alarm anyone, but the fact there has been an influx of news stories about people eating other people's faces and cooking their roommate's large intestine with onions and a nice herb butter is the least of our worries. It has come to my attention that this whole looming zombie war has taken on a thoroughly horrifying new turn.
It all started last week when upon innocently entering the kitchen, I was assaulted by what can only be described as a giant, icky, furry, black, gross, evil, huge, nasty, hideous, monstrous, hairy, possibly more dark brown than black, gigantic, dirty, sneaky, ugly, beastly minion of Satan hellbent on the destruction of humanity. Or, in other words, a big spider.
And by assaulted, I mean he was on the kitchen wall, moving three inches to the right and then two inches up and than four inches back left before sitting in the same spot for five minutes and starting the whole pattern over again.
But trust me, he was plotting his vicious assault on my face, which he could have initiated at any point.
Naturally, I did what any idiot with a crappy computer and spotty Wifi that is being stolen from the guys across the street would do, which was to throw on my spider-killin' gear - my husband's thickest boots and his motorcycle helmet (which is another column entirely. [spoiler alert] We don't own a motorcycle), and oven mitts, one of which was clutching a bottle of Febreze and the other a flip-flop - and prepare myself mentally for a lengthy battle.
An hour later, I was still standing in the furthest corner of the kitchen away from the arachnid-occupied zone, tracking the enemy's movements and trying to stifle my scaredy-girly screams every time it moved more than six inches at a time so the neighbors would stop calling the police (out of a genuine concern I might be getting murdered, I'm sure).
Realizing how ridiculous this was (but probably not as much as I should have), I began my attack, spraying it down with Febreze while emitting a high-pitched squeal that set every single dog in the neighborhood to barking. Unfortunately, this failed to actually kill it (but did make it smell amazing) and so in a Hail Mary tactic, I flung the flip-flop at it, which knocked it off the wall and onto what I'm assuming is the stairs in the kitchen that lead to the basement.
I say "assume" because I refused to actually double-check if it was dead and consequently haven't gone down to the basement since (despite the fact the washer and dryer are down there ... although this could eventually become a problem considering I'm currently down to my last pair of giant, old lady undies).
It should have ended there. But then three days later, lo and behold, I encountered another giant, icky, furry, black, gross, evil, huge, nasty, hideous, monstrous, hairy, possibly more dark brown than black, gigantic, dirty, sneaky, ugly, beastly minion of Satan.
In the same spot.
This time, I decided to change up my battle plan and try to kill it with my Swiffer Sweeper, leaving a wide berth between me and it so the chances of it jumping on my face and brutally devouring said face were lessened. I nailed him on my first try, but unfortunately, the idea that we were both touching the same object made me immediately drop said Swiffer onto the stairs below.
Having learned my lesson, however, I did timidly peer down the steps to see if I could locate the spider's mangled corpse but then a loose hair from my head tickled my upper arm and I ran screaming out the house, a cartoon cloud of dust left in my wake.
Now all of this could just be a coincidence or, if my worst nightmare has come true, we have a nest of spiders somewhere in the house. It could be ... except ...
Today, there was another giant, icky, furry, black, gross, evil, huge, nasty, hideous, monstrous, hairy, possibly more dark brown than black, gigantic, dirty, sneaky, ugly, beastly minion of Satan.
In my bedroom.
Which, coincidentally, is right beside the kitchen.
I hate to think this, let alone say it, but [glances nervously back and forth] I think [lowers voice to frantic whisper] it's all the same spider.
Think about it, they all looked exactly the same. They were all hanging out in the same relative area. I never found any of the actual dead spider bodies. And every three days, it would reappear (Like some spider version of Jesus).
So, while I don't want to alarm anyone, I think we need to stop focusing so much on what to do to prepare for an attack of human zombies and instead start stockpiling and training for the spider zombie apocalypse that is evidently already here.
Cause, yeah, sure, human zombies want to eat your still living flesh and suck your brains out of your skull, but spider zombies?
They are wicked icky and gross and move weird and are stupid and ugly, and I hate them.
So, I think we can all agree which one is worse.
Alas, it may already be too late.
It may already be too late.
Aprill Brandon is a columnist for the Advocate. Her column runs every two weeks in the Your Life section. Comment on this story at VictoriaAdvocate.com.