11 November, 2007


One rainy Friday, I was sitting in Al Corey’s waiting for my piano lesson. I had done all my bank transactions, picked up a cup of coffee, and then had sat down dutifully to do some school work. I had just settled myself comfortably in my chair and picked up my tooth-marked pencil when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my little brother staring at me. His eyes were the size of Frisbees and his mouth was half ajar. I looked at him quizzically and said, “What’s the matter with you?” He slowly croaked, “Mary, don’t turn around. Whatever you do, don’t look at your shoulder.”
Of course, I did exactly what he told me not to do, and turned my head slowly. There was a huge, fat, disgustingly ugly, brown spider, perched comfortably like he owned the place. After a millisecond of complete paralyzation, I shut my eyes, jumped to my feet did something that looked like an ancient-tribal-Indian-warrior dance and screamed, “Oh my gosh! Get it off! Oh my gosh! Oooh my gosh!” Ignoring the shocked faces of the store employees staring at me, I continued brushing my hand over and over my shoulder and jumping up and down. I finally stopped and opened my eyes just to see the little beast scuttling away back under my chair. Then my little brother simply had to say, “No wonder Mary, it has a huge web right underneath your chair!”
Needless to say, I haven’t sat in that chair since. I don’t think that the Al Corey’s employees have looked at me the same way since that vile episode. Spiders are the devil.

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