I Knew That Spider Was Trouble
The night before last, as the Man-Cub was preparing for bed, I heard him urgently calling his sister to his room. Once The Girl got there I heard her squeal like, well, like a girl and I had no choice but to investigate.
What I found when I got to the room almost made me squeal; in the tarantula habitat were not one but two tarantulas. Two.
The thought that Tank had spontaneously reproduced a twin was so damaging to my psyche; my mind auto-piloted its way to its Happy Place simply for its own protection…rainbows, butterflies, unlimited amounts of pink frosted donuts with no caloric consequences….and I was still disturbed by the sight.
Luckily, The Girl realized that Tank had merely shed his exoskeleton and had not spontaneously reproduced like a freaking Tribble nor had he cloned himself in some diabolical arachnid science experiment. Whew! Dodged that bullet!
I am grateful that: I managed not to have a stroke, not to have bad dreams that night and not to immediately throw that fucking spider right out the front door.
Which is probably a blessing because, I mean, what if he did have diabolical cloning powers and he then came back with reinforcements? Huh? It would be really hard to find something to be grateful for amongst all that mess.