All So Deplorable ( Part 1 )
A short scream emanates from the bathroom.
" Honeybunch, can I borrow you a minute? "
You try to climb into your newspaper and hide, failing as usual with a sigh of resignation.
Bathroom + An exclamation of fright = Can only mean one thing really. She bursts into the room, struggling to refasten her robe whilst afflicted by a mild bout of the shakes.
" There's a massive great spider. "
" Mmm? "
" In the bath. "
" Right. Well just ask it to hurry up and not to hog all the hot water, I want one myself later. "
" Can you get rid of it please! " Her voice is verging on panic-stricken as is often the case with dedicated arachniphobes, " And I suppose you think you're funny by the way! "
" Hilarious, I just haven't been discovered yet, that's all. " After patting the paper, armchair and TV to reassure them you'll be back in just a tick, you follow her obediently to the bathroom.
" Okay, where is it then? " you mutter irritably.
" I told you, in the bath. You can't miss it, it's taking most of it up. "
You stop for a moment at the door, a little perturbed by the last remark. Okay, well she's exaggerating because she always does when it comes to spiders. But seriously, just how big is this thing? Will I be able to tell the colour of its eyes? Is it crouched and waiting, tapping a baseball bat menacingly into its hand? If I wash it down with the shower nozzle will it fit down the plughole?
" You know darling, it's probably ten times more scared of you than you are of him. "
" How much do you wanna bet on that? " she says, pushing you through the doorway as if she was throwing you infront of a Subway train.
Who were you trying to reassure with that old cliche anyway? Her... or yourself? Well how can you admit to her that actually, you're not that great with spiders yourself. Maybe not as bad as her, but not exactly Conan the Barbarian either.
You peer tentatively into the tub and exhale with part revulsion, but mostly relief. Okay, it's big. But hardly a king-size double whopper. And certainly not with cheese.
" Aww, poor little spidey-widey " you say, prolonging the bravado whilst deciding frantically on your next course of action. " Nasty woman who's two hundred times your size doesn't seem to like you does she? "
" No she doesn't, " she says through impatiently gritted teeth, " which is why she has asked you to remove it please. " .
" Bet you're a male aren't you? " You say to it. " Cutesie little spidey-kins probably seeking refuge from your female partner who wants to eat you all up... "
" WILL YOU STOP FARTING ABOUT AND GET RID OF IT! " she screeches, approaching the point of hysteria.
" I'm trying to catch the little bugger, " you lie. Easy to bend the truth here because she can't see what's going on, opting to stay as far away from the action as possible.
" What do you mean, trying to catch it? "
" Well he's currently doing a Harry 'Butch' Reynolds around the rim at the moment. "
" Doing a what?? "
You turn to explain, " Butch Reynolds. He was a 400metre runner back in the...."
" I don't care, explain later, just get rid of it! "
" Right. " Your head is spinning, you really don't like the look of this thing. No way are you picking this one up.
You glance around the bath for something solid. Ah...shampoo bottle, that'll have to do. Grabbing it, you raise it high into the air in a graceful arc before slamming it down with one eye closed.
" Sorry little buddy, " you mutter, already feeling nauseous and more cursed than the Ancient Mariner. " Okay darling, it's all clear now. "
" Oh thank god, I can get on with running the bath then. "
" Well hold on, I haven't it scraped it up yet. "
" What!... I thought you said he was gone?! "
" Er, well he's still here sort of... he's just er, half the height he was and twice as wide. "
And that's the moment she gives you the look. Horrific realisation that you're not the person she thought you were.
" You killed it? "
" Umm...well yeah, " you reply with a shrug.
She's visibly mortified. " I cannot believe you killed it. "
" You asked me to get rid of it...."
" Yeah, but not like that. The poor little thing. "
" Poor little...hang on, a minute ago this 'poor little thing' had risen from the depths of hell to ruin your life and now you're sad that it's dead. "
You've not seen her this upset for a long time. " I didn't want you to kill it. When you said it was all clear now, I assumed you picked him up and put him out the window. "
" Whooa, I wasn't gonna pick it up. Before I could've stopped it, it'd be shooting up my sleeve and making a new home in my armpit. And honeybunch doesn't want eight-legged squatters in his armpit, not even with a month's rent up front! "
By the way, notice that before she referred to the spider as an 'it', but now of course it's a posthumous 'him'.
" I don't believe you " she says, a serious look on her face.
" Well what did you expect me to do? Build a gold-plated spider-sized carriage for it with cushions inside and a greenfly buffet and then wheel it out into the sunset?! " It's fair to say you've snapped at this point.
She storms out of the bathroom, shouting back " I wanted him removed but not like THAT! "
The above is of course just a fictional scenario, but one that some may be able to relate to.
But it's a scenario that's been going through my head these last few days, and in particular the words not like that......... not like that ....... what does this make me think of?......not like that...... something far more significant and far more relevant than a fictional domestic argument over a spider in a bathtub. But what?
I wanted him removed but not like that...
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