The other night I was talking on the phone when OUCH — something bit me. I looked down to see blood on my wrist. When I washed the blood off, there was a circle of tiny puncture wounds. Strange. Very strange. And definitely not the work of a mosquito.
My hub informed me that it might have been a spider.
Since I was sitting at the desk that’s right by the Pack’n’Play where Bean sleeps, I began to imagine giant Shelob-esque creatures creeping around our room. I peered under the desk. I peered behind the bookshelf. I peered around my nightstand. In short, I peered in, on, under, over, around, through (and every other preposition) all of the furniture in our room.
Then I asked the hub, “Do you think it was a big spider? I mean, the bite on my wrist was as big as a pencil eraser. That sounds like a big spider.”
He replied, “Oh, I don’t know, the littlest ones are usually the most deadly.”
I applauded him for his sensitivity and encouragement. Then I went back to peering.