On the weekend, I was doing laundry and puttering around the kitchen. I actually hang laundry to dry in my kitchen on cloudy days, on one of these things:
Little did I realize, there was mischief afoot.
As I picked up those pants off the chair, planning to hang them in my closet with the rest of my stuff Before I left the kitchen, I looked down at the pants in my hand and there was GEORGE. Inches from my flesh.
"George, get OFFFF!" I opened the patio door and shook the pants, but he clung on for dear life.
"GET OFF MY PANTS! What was our deal? You're lucky I don't make you a spider pancake this instant!" And with that, I slapped at the pants, and George went flying into the abyss of the lawn to fend for himself in the wilds against the birds and frogs.
"Stupid spiders. That's the last time I allow one to call the kitchen home, " I muttered as I shut the door and for some odd reason, looked at the corner where George used to reside.
Oh my GOD, there's MORE.