I have an intense fear of spiders. And today I walked down the hall to find a lovely surprise. It's eight long, curved legs twitched disgustingly and a high-pitched screech escaped from my lips. I ran up the stairs, searching frantically for a weapon. My offense of choice: a ten-pound dumbbell. I carried it quickly down the stairs and entered my room. I approached the vial creature, but within about three feet of it's creeping body I stopped. I couldn't get any closer. The originally stationary spider had a spurt of movement in which it scurried a few inches across the floor. I jumped back in alarm. If I took even one more step that spider would be he death of me.
I called Braden. I was on the brink of hysteria on the phone. "Where are you???"
"I'm getting a ride home, what do you want?"
"There's a spider on the floor in my room and I can't kill it!" I was talking a billion miles an hour. "COMEHOMEI'MGONNADIE!"
"Watch the spider so we don't lose it, I'll be there in a sec."
I hung up the phone, staring at the spider. It made quick, jerky movements, and every time it even twitched my throat squelched in horror. I felt like I was watching it for hours. It made its way into my blue sweatshirt hanging on the closet doorknob. I was hyperventilating by the time Braden got home.
With a quick swing of his leg, his foot slammed down on the monster, putting an end to my misery. Thank heavens for little brothers.