• So, at about 10:23 AM, I draw a bath and get my soak on.

    After about five minutes I am starting to fall asleep when I see a skitter of movement out of my periphery. I turn and there is the biggest spider I have ever seen.

    I don't mean "kind of big". I don't mean "not small". I mean this s**t was tarantula-sized and he was staring me down from the five feet or so between tub and door.

    I am massively arachnophobic and as such my first instinct is to fight or flee. Since the spider is blocking my (no doubt dramatic) escape, my next move is to stand there and start yelling. The spider, who I now unconsciously refer to as "Parthanon", takes great offense to this and starts walking towards me. Slowly. Purposefully.

    It is at this point that I lose my s**t. With a dramatic and heroic battle cry ("OH ******** NOOOOOO" wink I snatch a book off of the tank of my toilet and hurl it at Parthanon as hard as I can.

    I have never thrown something so accurately in my life. The book hits Parthanon dead-on, right on the abdomen, with the spine of the book. I am standing there now, completely naked, dripping wet (Yes, take a moment to let that image soak in ladies), and ******** freezing, panting with adrenaline and terror. I have killed it, I think.

    I am wrong. Parthanon starts scuttling towards the bath tub at top speed, and now I know it is ******** go time. It is either time to escape or die trying. With another book in hand, I leapt over the mammoth arachnid, hurled the book down while in mid-air (striking Parthanon, yet again, with maximum force) and, hoping that it would be distracted long enough not to kill me, I open the bathroom door, hurl myself into the tile hallway, and proceed to fall down trying to get away.

    I rolled over, looking at the book now lying flat on the bathroom linoleum. Could it be, I guessed? I'm no Arnold, but surely Parthanon could not have survived my two adrenaline-fueled impromptu missiles, right?

    Wrong. The book slides off as I watch and now that spider is ******** furious. It is running at me as fast as possible and I am now screaming at the top of my lungs. Incoherently. I would later learn from my neighbours that I was screaming "********" over and over again.

    But I digress. Parthanon was now approaching me at top speed and my only option left was dire. I hurled myself to my feet, threw myself backwards, grabbed a shoe, and prepared to throw down.

    After picking myself up, I crouched in preparation for the final battle. I knew I would only have one chance, and since I used to watch tons of bushido samurai movies, I knew that in battle the combatant who makes the first move usually loses.

    I waited, muscles coiled like springs, and Parthanon finally made his mistake. Coming for my feet, he was completely oblivious to my overhand shoe-swing, and I splattered him as hard as possible.

    Again. And again. And again. I'm pretty sure I was screaming during this too.

    This, people, was how I spent my Tuesday morning