Last night I had a dream that vermin that looked like little black plastic boxes with electrical cords for tails had infested our home, having attached themselves to various electrical outlets throughout the house. Apparently some sort of animal had adapted itself, through the wonders of natural selection, to take advantage of the plentiful supply of electricity in the house. They weren't really doing anything to bother me, if you don't count the minor increase in my electric bill, but they kind of creeped me out so I went around the house unplugging them. You have to nip these things in the bud.I woke up this morning relieved to find that the electricity gophers were gone, but a little disappointed that the giant spiders were not. We live out in the country, and the spiders who reside in our house are impressive, both in size and in number. I don't think they're poisonous, mainly because I'm still alive, but occasionally their smoking is a problem. And then there are the times when they drink too much and try to carry off the children, but to be fair that's happened only a few times, and I think the kids provoked them.
Another thing I don't like about the spiders in my house is that they all share my name. I don't even know how my wife knows their names, but without fail every time she sees a spider she screams the same name -- mine. Even the girl spiders who erupt into a flurry of little baby spiders when you smash them are apparently named Robert. It's especially confusing because this is also what she yells when she comes across credit card bills with unexplained purchases on them. I've tried to get her to shriek "Tally Ho!" or "Timber!", but she insist on sticking with "Robert!" So it's hardly my fault when I rush into a room where she's paying bills and crush the Visa bill with a phone book.
I didn't used to kill spiders, out of principle. Partly the principle that spiders are good because they eat insects, but mostly the principle that there's a slight chance that any spider I kill might be have been exposed to some mysterious radioactivity and thereby been imbued with the power to infuse me with superhuman strength and agility, not to mention spider-sense. Where would Peter Parker be today if he had been a little quicker to smash that radioactive spider? He'd have had to come by his powers honestly, through training and determination fueled by a childhood tragedy, like Batman. And I'm pretty sure Peter Parker's parents were killed in a car accident, so he'd have ended up becoming a champion for stricter automotive safety standards and probably eventually costing Al Gore the presidential election, which is heroic in itself, but not quite up there with defeating Doc Ock in terms of sheer excitement.
And not only that, but the other day the pump for our well stopped working, which seems entirely unrelated, but stick with me. It turns out the culprit was an ant stuck in the contacts of the motor. It cost me a hundred dollars to have someone come out and remove the ant, which is more than it would cost me to have a rivet removed from my foot (not that I would know), because my insurance doesn't cover ants. If I'd have left the spiders alone, they might have eaten the ant and saved me a hundred dollars. But apparently I didn't learn my lesson, because when my wife saw the bill she screamed so loud that I immediately went for the phone book.
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