BodomiC
Active Member
Totally not interesting:
Hee hee! Here in Oz the summer footwear 'uniform' for many of us is a thing called 'thongs'. I believe my US friends call 'em flipflops and NZers call 'em jandals. Anyway, I taught DH my preferred way of dealing with spiders. I'm willing to share it with my good friends here at rctn.
This only works for the Spiders-as-Big-as-Walnuts that knit-one-purl-two across on opening, OK.
My Mum used to *cultivate* spiders, thinking they kept burglars away! I had to give at least lip service to this idea, because they certainly nearly kept *me* away! There was one variety whose name I never learned that knitted (or tatted) *incredibly* strong nets across the pergola over Mum's driveway. So when I came home late at night, I developed a sort of Heil Hitler vertical salute, designed to catch the cobweb and, hopefully, avoid the ginormo-spider. Some of these cobwebs were anointed with epoxy resin glue and composed of some impermeable sort of cable, because one would frequently bounce off the web after impact! I felt they were the work of Horse-Eating Spiders which were in the process of learning to enjoy human flesh!
Next morning, I would secretly creep out and put Patricia's Spider Relocation Method into practice.
You take off your right thong, step back from the spider (lurking and smirking in the centre of his nylon ripstop web). Adopting an eastern forehand grip on the thong, you line up the spider and take a single step forward with a relaxed, waltzing motion. You begin with a fairly strong forehand volley, taking care to smite the spider in the centre of the thong. Use a strong wrist action and DO NOT dream of putting english on the 'ball'. Follow through with the same relaxed, graceful swing, finally releasing the thong. Drop it and run like h*ll! Return at your leisure, taking care not to step on the possibly-still-there spider with your unclad foot.
The denouement is seeking out the spider carcass and holding a little ritual reminiscence over the body. Feel no guilt at what you have done. Remember all the times you gaily marched into his Trap of Death, all unaware, and got wads of sticky cobweb in your hair and over your clothes. Remember doing the Dance of Horror as you brushed ineffectively at the cobweb and desperately screeched at anyone within a kilometre's radius 'Where's the spider? Where's the spider?'. And best of all, remember the sweet pleasure of knowing the last thing that went through the monster's mind was his bottom!
Trish {|:O}
Hee hee! Here in Oz the summer footwear 'uniform' for many of us is a thing called 'thongs'. I believe my US friends call 'em flipflops and NZers call 'em jandals. Anyway, I taught DH my preferred way of dealing with spiders. I'm willing to share it with my good friends here at rctn.
This only works for the Spiders-as-Big-as-Walnuts that knit-one-purl-two across on opening, OK.
My Mum used to *cultivate* spiders, thinking they kept burglars away! I had to give at least lip service to this idea, because they certainly nearly kept *me* away! There was one variety whose name I never learned that knitted (or tatted) *incredibly* strong nets across the pergola over Mum's driveway. So when I came home late at night, I developed a sort of Heil Hitler vertical salute, designed to catch the cobweb and, hopefully, avoid the ginormo-spider. Some of these cobwebs were anointed with epoxy resin glue and composed of some impermeable sort of cable, because one would frequently bounce off the web after impact! I felt they were the work of Horse-Eating Spiders which were in the process of learning to enjoy human flesh!
Next morning, I would secretly creep out and put Patricia's Spider Relocation Method into practice.
You take off your right thong, step back from the spider (lurking and smirking in the centre of his nylon ripstop web). Adopting an eastern forehand grip on the thong, you line up the spider and take a single step forward with a relaxed, waltzing motion. You begin with a fairly strong forehand volley, taking care to smite the spider in the centre of the thong. Use a strong wrist action and DO NOT dream of putting english on the 'ball'. Follow through with the same relaxed, graceful swing, finally releasing the thong. Drop it and run like h*ll! Return at your leisure, taking care not to step on the possibly-still-there spider with your unclad foot.
The denouement is seeking out the spider carcass and holding a little ritual reminiscence over the body. Feel no guilt at what you have done. Remember all the times you gaily marched into his Trap of Death, all unaware, and got wads of sticky cobweb in your hair and over your clothes. Remember doing the Dance of Horror as you brushed ineffectively at the cobweb and desperately screeched at anyone within a kilometre's radius 'Where's the spider? Where's the spider?'. And best of all, remember the sweet pleasure of knowing the last thing that went through the monster's mind was his bottom!
Trish {|:O}
