The spiders. They've moved in. They're everywhere. I don't like it.
It's that time of year where it's rainy, and now a little cooler again, outside. So the spiders get together and decide that the best place to relocate to is inside. My house. Your house. They don't discriminate.
Last week there was one in the shower.
Of course if you had heard me scream, you would have thought there was an ax murderer. That's the type of scream that came from within me. Fortunately, Bill knows better. That, and our house is not made for sneaking around. The stairs squeak, the floors creak, the faucets leak, and the doors finally close like normal.
I had you going there, didn't I? Now that the layers of paint have been removed from the doors, they actually close. No sticking, forcing or not-closing-all-the-way. It's grand.
But the spiders don't care.
They can sneak up on you. In the shower, in the hall, in the kitchen, on the wall.
Did I mention that one of my students was in Seussical Jr.?
Because of the spiders, I have to repaint my ceilings. Maybe I should try cleaning the spider guts off first.
Anyway, it's that time of year. The windows are open. And to spiders, that's like leaving the light on.