A Muse with Eight Legs…

Arachnid locomotion engage and quickly he bolts across my messy bathroom floor. Stealth he is, but how did he even get in here? There’s not a single open window for him to climb through, my front door is securely locked, and half the time, this moisture-filled room, is in complete darkness.

Ah, but that is the rub-a-dub-dub; he must find water or die. And the humidity billowing from my twenty minute very steamy shower must have lured him into my bathroom. Sneaking a peek was never his intention. But when I flung open the shower curtain my nakedness was rather unavoidable. And oh my, he is indeed all-eyes, several sets in fact. And vision so sharp that he could probably draw my curvy image perfectly, if, in fact, he was an artist. Well, thank God he’s not!

I’m feeling fat today.

Soaking wet, I slowly pull myself out of the tub. I’m not necessarily shy but he sure the heck is. Quickly, he zips off and scales up my dew covered bathroom wall. Holy moly and I thought my legs were hairy, I chuckle to myself after noticing his dense fur-covered scopula pads, Ha, ha, ha, and when’s the last time you cleaned up the joint, sister? Bats back my sarcastic inner voice. I mean for Heaven’s sake, he’s high-wiring himself on an old cobweb covering that unused electric toothbrush. Okay, so I have a lot of dust collecting stuff that really should be boxed up and given to charity. But come on, a secondhand oral healthcare product wouldn’t interest anyone.

My turn buddy boy, I think to myself while stepping up onto the edge of my pink porcelain tub. Delicately balancing as I gracefully rise on tippy toes. Not because I’m competing with my tiny uninvited guest, that would be weird, but because I am trying to see my body through a steam-filled mirror on the other side of my fully-packed bathroom.

And yup, I’m looking fat.

Oh, but those baked beans on toast were to die for, I deliciously smirk while looking down before planting my feet onto an earth-toned bathmat. The last thing I wanna do is squash the little guy and then have it rain all week. Come on, it’s too dry outside, that’s why he’s even here in the first place, you nincompoop! Meanwhile he’s probably thinking; hello, could you be anymore insensitive? I mean, here he is scuttling about trying to quench his thirst while I’m stressing out over my weight. Privileged I am, to have had such a mouthwatering breakfast while he’s lucky to get two ants and a mosquito for lunch.

Suddenly, he’s hanging from a proteinaceous piece of silk, right in front of my face. “Excuse me,” I casually say while stepping down, placing each foot, one by one, onto the bathmat below. Okay, so it’s not really earth-toned, it’s just dirty. Busted! My towel must be stinky as well, because, immediately, he swung away from me and onto the mirror just as I started drying myself off. “I don’t like your attitude, mister,” I mumble while wrapping myself in an, it’ll-have-to-do, towel.

Attitude, whose attitude? suddenly pops in my head.

Forced he was, to walk all the way across my insanely cluttered apartment in search of a drop of water, while I wolfed down my baked bean breakfast and now I’m whining about being fat. Who’s got a bad attitude? Me! Admitting to myself while watching him frantically drink up so much moisture that he practically cleared my steam-filled mirror

“Wow, you really are thirsty, my friend,” I whisper, gently.

“Of course, I’m thirsty. Why else would I be in this stinky place?” flaps his fang-like chelicerae. Full disclosure; it’s me doing his Gilbert Gottfried voice, because an arachnid’s only mode of communication is vibrations. And seemingly good ones! Because when I moved in to get a closer look, I noticed him happily licking his chops while securely hanging from a slight crack in the glass.

“Wait a minute, how long has my mirror been broken?” I shriek, suddenly

Running through my mind are a number of things; broken glass is dangerous; my landlord is going to take forever to replace it; that stupid toothbrush did it; de-clutter the place, you slacker! But then — it hits me, “everyone always looks fat in a warped mirror!” spews gleefully from my mouth.

“Oh, don’t you roll all your eyes at me, mister,” I joke, openly, while my new friend just sits there, unimpressed.

I laugh at how utterly obsessed I am, curse the patriarchy, sit down on the toilet, and almost fall through…“What the heck?” I say out loud while pulling the seat down. Okay, not sure how that happened but I gotta carry on with my business. Nice and relaxed, I release a lot of gas, blaming the beans, and walla! No more bloating, I’m transformed, feeling fat — gone.

“Light a match for Heaven’s sake, it reeks in here!” scream my olfactory glands.

I then spot my little friend and wonder if spiders can smell. Or even fart? I mean, do they have tiny little bums? Okay, I must research that while I’m waiting for my full fecal evacuation. So I grab my cell phone sitting near the sink next to a bunch of other stuff and ask AI; my voice straining as I force my body to eject its waste. AI then replies, “Yes, spiders have a posterior region of their abdomen called the opisthosoma, which is essentially their butt.”

Huh, who knew, I think to myself while tearing off the last few sheets of toilet paper. But before wiping, I scan the room. I don’t care if he’s just a spider, I would like some privacy. I see nothing so I carry on and finish the job. But just as I get up and am about to flush, I notice he’s now crawling towards my clothes. Panicky thoughts race through my mind; oh this is not good; that extra roll, where the heck is it? Again, if you de-cluttered, you wouldn’t have bugs, sister!

“Calm down and get a hold of yourself. It’s lunch time. My little friend is likely hungry,” I exhale loudly, chilling myself out.

Squirt, squirt, squirt… the last of my liquid soap. Wash my hands and grab a maybe clean glass also sitting near my untidy sink. Gently, I scoop Eight Legs up and quickly march across my cluttered living room, almost tripping over some random stuff.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, I really gotta clean this place up, that’s it, no more procrastinating,” I mutter to myself.

Slowly, I open the sliding deck doors, say goodbye to my little muse and then set him free outside. I might have water but I certainly don’t have ants in my pants, LOL. And who wants to be stuck in a stinky bathroom with a mirror full of lies? As well as, the constant banging of stuff being thrown into boxes destined for charity — finally!

Oh and how do I know it’s a guy? Because he left the seat up!