Climbed up the water spout.

I have a modicum of shame, and to prove it here's me at one of my less-than-finer moments. I hope it makes your day--'cause I know you're laughing.

Anyway, I have no issues telling y'all about my fabulous tub time last night. Those who know and love me (and that list is long, lemme tell ya!) can vouch for my penchant for ridiculously long and hot bubble baths. Long, as in a good hour or more, with the water so hot my skin turns bright pink and the sweat pours. I like to think of it as steam cleaning--and I just know I'm burning calories in the process! The whole scenario is made complete by the presence of a good book--and years ago my darling husband gave me a bath tray that fits across the width of our tub, with a spot to hold my book just so. (Thanks, honey--still one of the best gifts ever!) Add in a drink (usually water--sometimes wine if it's one of those nights), and the sound system tuned to the Jazz channel on XM, and you have my idea of ultimate relaxation. I try to do this at least once a week--sometimes more if time permits--because it makes me happy. Which in turn makes my huband happy, my daughters happy, and so on and so forth. You get the picture. But I hope that picture is not a mental image of me floating in a tub of foam--come on, find a different gutter to get your mind in! Unless the foam is strategically placed to cover all the Playboy parts--then visualize away. Do I look good enough for Playboy in this mental picture? I digress...


So...last night I'm doing my bath thing, sweating, relaxing, reading. I'm so into my book that I ignore a feather-light tickling sensation on my left hand. A minute later the tickle is stronger...so I glance down, expecting to swat an errant bubble, when I find an errant...SPIDER!

Mr. Itsy Bitsy is just crawling away on my person, apparently trying to save himself from a watery demise. This is sad on many levels...the first being how nasty I felt for having a spider near the tub. Yes, I clean...in fact, it's my full-time job after motherhood, it seems. Secondly, how long did I have to lie there for Mr. Isty Bitsy to make his way from whence he came to my hand? Finally, in my fervent attempt to kill Mr. Itsy Bitsy (yeah--we do this in our home--flee, PETA people--avert your eyes!), I totally soaked half my book. And that, my friends, is the tragedy in all this. Respect the novel--tame the page. (And if you haven't seen Magnolia, that lame joke is totally lost on you!)

I could go on and on about this little escapade...but it would just be flowery prose, attempts at humor, and my usual lack of brevity. To spare you all, I'll just say that the spider was killed. I remained in the tub. And then I cleaned like crazy...cobwebs be damned! Seriously, though...y'all know this would only happen to me. My life is par for this course. And who has the dignity to regale her dear readers with a tale such as this? ME, ME, ME--of course!