Here I am, at Wine O’Clock, sitting and trying to catch up on whatever the hell is going on in the rest of the world, as I have absolutely no idea, by watching the news.
A skewed view of what’s going on in the world, admittedly, however it gives me a little more of an idea outside of how the tall boy in the kids’ bedroom is falling apart, and the likely places the wood glue may be found.
It is 27 seconds into the first news item, when Monkey Boy yells his standard “Mu-uuum! Come here!” This could range from someone or something being located in an unusual spot, he is stuck somewhere, he has found a funny comic that is, in fact, not even remotely funny, or the wood glue is sitting on the tall boy.
I catch “Quick, theres something something scaring me!”
“Be there in a minute,” I yell back in reply.
“QUICK!” he screams. “It’s attacking me!”
And shortly after, I hear the dreaded word “spider”.
Have minor panic attack. For two reasons. I hate spiders and I’m well aware I am on a knife edge of fucking my kid up for life by showing him just how panicked I am re alleged, attacking spider.
I slowly make my way up Chippie’s room, as Grumpy has, quite conveniently not heard a word of this, yet will inevitably have stern words re killage of said spider should I go down that particular path.
Also, I have issues with squished spiders.
I find Monkey Boy, curled in the cornder of the room, pointing at the cot to where the spider was, and I swallowed another panic as I envisioned a wolf spider residing between the folds of Chippie’s unmade blankets.
I squint, look closer and see a spider all of, oh, several milimetre long – HUGE! – including it’s legs. And I sigh. And I send Monkey Boy for a glass in which to capture it.
Note: Spiders must always be captured in a glass so you can see what the fuckers are doing.
He returns with a red, plastic, Cars tumbler. Opaque red, I might add.
*sigh* and I dive in anyway as I instruct him to grab a “scrap paper from my office” with which to cover the opening of the tumbler, where I will, subsequently, transport arachnid out the front door and toss him to the wind.
He returns with a book mark. One which barely covers one quarter of the opening I wish to prevent the spider from escaping from.
Ultimately, I am forced to run to the front door, holding recepticle at arms length, twisting and twirling it to ensure spider stays as far from the opening, and my vulnerable fingers, as possible until I can get out the door and flick the cup to evict spider.
It is at this point I wish the spider to leave the barely covered opening, yet it refuses, and I endure several gruelling seconds in the rain, in my pyjamas and trying my utmost not to squeal in some kind of girly Fear Of Spiders way.
Monkey Boy shuts and locks the door for me, with me still on the outside, and returns to his play, uninterrupted by Hugely Enormous Spiders that Attack And Eat Little Boys.