So, I’m sure this isn’t the right forum to be divulging this, but I have something I want you all to know. It’s not something I’m proud of in the slightest, let’s be clear about that. I’m not telling you this to be all boastful like, “look at me, don’t you want my life? I’m so damn glamorous. I’m like Holly Golightly up in this bitch,” because that is far from my intention. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’m almost ashamed at my behaviour.
Almost is the operative word here.
Anyways, I’ve become a murderer. Chill out, ok? I’m not keeping severed heads in my fridge alongside my infused water or anything. I’m not, like, wielding a machete. You can just banish that image from your memory, it was one time.
Now before I get hauled off an cuffed and whatever, let’s be clear: I’ve only ever murdered insects. Spiders, more specifically. I think the population for spiders to people in Ireland is like 4:1, and I’m being conservative in my estimation. I’m basically just doing my civic duty in protecting our Gallic borders, you guys.
The only reason I’m even telling you is because it’s gotten to the point where I’m straight up nailing it with my accuracy. So I have to share.
Now at best I have mediocre aim and a below average “yuck” tolerance. I throw like a girl, but like a girl who injected her arm with Novocaine and the fell asleep on top of it. I’m being generous, if you can believe it.
I happen to be an Idiot Savant when it comes to a few things, though, all of which involve my right arm/hand – darts, throwing crumpled paper into trash cans, and apparently killing spiders.
We get the Daddy Long-Leg types who like to appear on the ceiling or close to it, so generally I take to them with the vacuum cleaner hose and it’s like “problem solved.” Sometimes they’re a bit cagier and, like, scuttle around a bit (I don’t think they’re too bright), but I always win. The home invaders never stand a chance.
Last night was, like, my proudest moment of Dee v Arachnids, though. Here I was, preparing for bed when all of a sudden I glanced to the right. I’m not sure what triggered the impulse, I’m pretty sure it’s irrelevant to the story. Anyways, directly to my right I see this massive chupacabra looking monster splayed out on our bedroom floor, like “Oh look, I have a human visitor. Whatevs.”
I know some of you may have cracked under the pressure, and if I did not have this Idiot Savant-like aim I, too, may have crawled under the covers and made my man do the dirty work for me.
Anyone want to guess what I did instead, though? That’s right; I took my fiancee’s mouth guard case and crushed that little guy before you could even say “squatters’ rights.”
Muahaha. Yet another point for Dee.
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