I spent the better part of this evening attempting to further organize my new residence in an effort to make it more homey. I don't pretend to understand the complex ecosystem that is my little house, but it's become apparent to me that I am anything but living alone here. Good thing I'm good at sharing. What I'm not good at sharing, however, is kitchen cabinet space. Especially when that which wants to go in halfsies on the space is an eight-legged monster with a cigarette butt in its mouth and a gun holstered to its hips. Blame for this nefarious roommate lies with the former tenant, who preferred to grow illegal plants in the house rather than ever actually bothering to clean the place.
Even after my awesome new landlord had come in and completely redone the place, I've been having to clean and re-clean various areas. Today I attacked the lower cabinets underneath the kitchen counter. While innocently scrubbing away dirt and filth from one lowermost shelf, the hand doing all the scrubbing encountered something light and fluffy. "Oh, cobwebs," I thought to myself. Only when I looked down I saw not a single strand of web. Oh no, I saw a fucking Six Flags amusement park. With only one guy around to ride any of the attractions.
Spider webs are fine and good, unless they're where you want to put your dishes. Luckily for me, Renee has been recounting her new camp experiences, and I was able to harken back to my own. That is to say, I realized that a very effective way to rid yourself of cobwebs is to use a broom. And as luck would have it, I only just purchased a new broom this afternoon! So out came the broom, in it went into the cabinet, and after a few swishy swishies, out came the spider web.
The spider, unfortunately, remained. But now it was all alone, and it was nothing a little sneaker action couldn't handle. Luckily, it was a lone ranger spider (I could tell because of it was light brown with a single dark stripe on its body), and after that all seemed fine and dandy.
Lest I be leading you on with how macho this sounds, this whole debacle by no means butch. Unless butch consists of yelping in surprise and leaping backwards onto the floor as soon as I felt the spiderweb touch the hairs on my arm. Because if that's the case, then I was fucking Superman.
I'm thinking that it may be about time I consider spraying this place for bugs. After the mess it went through before, it certainly couldn't hurt anything. Until then, at least Superman has his broom.