The other day, walking through the dining room, I spotted a spider hanging from the ceiling. This thing was dangling and spinning a bit, like it was auditioning for a spot in Cirque du Soleil and if I was in charge of casting, I would have given him the job on the spot. He was small, but majestic and very sure of himself. Naturally, I cannot let this sort of thing go on, otherwise word gets out on the arachnid web (see what I did there?) and then all spiders think that this is a friendly house where they can live out their days in peaceful leisure. Not on my watch. So, I got a napkin, walked back over and pinched him inside of it, gave it a little squish and then threw it away. I am a strong, independent woman that doesn’t need a man to kill my multi-legged foes.
Despite my strength and independence, I had to brag about my latest kill. I would be a terrible accomplice in a crime, obviously. When you have the face of a librarian, you like to shock people when you do something awesome or bad ass. So, I’m telling the Handsome Hermit all about the size of the beast and the way I single-handedly slew it when I gestured towards the garbage can where I had disposed of the body. And what do I see when I glance over? That little bastard is CLIMBING OUT OF THE TRASH CAN. My first thought was “Well, this makes my whole story a moot point” but what I said out loud is “It’s a zombie!” He was a plucky fellow, I’ll give you that.
I hesitated a bit, I was mulling over a world in which spiders could become zombies and decided then and there that I did not want to exist in that reality. The Handsome Hermit is used to my antics by now, so he doesn’t even make a sound, just walks over and squashes the bug between his two fingers. Bare handed. Like an animal. Than turns to me and says: “You have to go for the head. Only way to kill them.” Then walked into the bathroom to wash his hands.
This is our version of love. It works.