I have a tale to tell.
A few days ago I went to the bathroom. This in and of itself is not a tale. However, what befell me there is worthy of telling.
Our cloakroom is a very compact affair, being as it is, wedged underneath the up stairs, so while sitting on the throne you're hemmed in by walls. I tell this so you can picture the scene.
There I am, enthroned as it were. The toilet paper is hanging on its holder immediately to the right of me, and the paper is hanging down the front of the roll as is customary in this household (basically, that's how I like it, and I'm the only one who ever replaces the bloody things).
I have a habit in these situations, of getting the toilet paper ready for use prior to completion of my 'business' and this occasion was no different. What was different was what happened next.
I pulled on the end of the toilet paper, which started to unroll, and what should come sailing over the top of the roll, riding it without a care in the world, but a sodding great big spider.
(My regular readers will know, that to say I am not a fan of these beasties is putting it mildly)
So, I'm sitting there, in what can delicately be descibed as 'mid-flow' with an object of terror not six inches away, and now I have a split-second decision to make. Should I:
a) Scream and run, with all the associated messiness and post-traumatic mopping up.
b) Finish, shake, dress, scream and run.
c) Finish, shake the paper free of infestation, grab a piece and run.
d) Somehow summon up the courage to squish the offending creature in the paper, drop it in the bin, and then finish up in an orderly manner.
In the end I managed to hold it together long enough to implement plan b. Then I yelled for Wookiee to put on his pest control hat and come and deal with it, while I made a slightly more decorous exit in the direction of the bedroom and a fresh pair of underwear.
2 weeks ago
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