When I was growing up, I had a best friend named Annie. Annie is not relevant to the story and she is not the trauma. That is my disclaimer. Annie and I were goofballs. We were rarely serious when we were young. We looked goofy and we acted even more goofy.
I remember one day that a dentist must have come into my room and released laughing gas, because Annie and I laughed and made a decade long inside joke over something completely not funny. I am not sure why we were playing with my hair dryer. I feel like it was probably a microphone or a gun. Knowing us, it was probably a microphone and we were probably debating who could sing NSync or Backstreet songs better. For the record, Backstreet Boys were always better unless 98 Degrees were around. NSync was all Timberlake. I still love me some Justin Timberlake.
Anyways, we were playing with a hairdryer and suddenly ants come charging out. The hair dryer falls to the floor. First reaction, EWWW! Second reaction, THE ANTS HAVE ATTACKED ME AND I FEEL SO VIOLATED! Third reaction, what the hell does that even mean?!
Fast forward about twenty years, I'm fatter, my hair is darker, and Annie and I haven't spoken in over 10 years. So I was driving to work and per the usual, my nose is almost always a little stuffy in the morning. I always used to keep my tissue in the center console, but I found these cup holder sized ones I could keep in the door. They weren't lotion, but hey, chances are I would use a used one that was in my purse.
I was innocently just driving to work, listening to Glee like I do many other mornings. I grabbed one of these terrible sandpaper tissues and blew my nose. Because it is winter, I expected it to be bloody when I pulled it way from my nose. No. It was a spider though. I freaking spider was in my tissue.
My panic was intense. While driving, I do a little freak out dance and send him flying across the car. He lands dangerously close to my purse and I grab that and send it to the back seat. After about 10 seconds of panic and distracted driving, I decide to pull into a parking lot. I found the spider and killed him. It wasn't until I was driving again did I think, why didn't I squish him in the perfect death trap, the tissue? Was he always in the tissue? Was he really in my nose and I blew him out?
Even as I write this long blog about absolute nonsense, I sit hear sniffling and wondering where that asshole came from. As soon as I got to the stoplight, I snap chatted my intern to tell her what happened. I called my mom and left her a voicemail. My mom in turn played the voicemail for her best friend. My intern has now dubbed me #motherofspiders because I am always the one that finds them at work. I love Khalessi, but she has something cool to be a badass about. Dragons rock. Spiders kinda suck. If I saw a dragon, I would dance for joy. Spiders are a violation, a horror, and a true trauma.
Lessons learned from this blog:
1. Don't buy crappy tissues
2. Inspect your tissues
3. Don't sing into hair dryers
4. Don't Google spiders or trauma.
5. Strive to be Khalessi