Misplacing bedroom widow has me questioning guidelines of my liberal position on house spiders. Far from the first time a bedroom widow went missing, it may be time to tighten parameters of leniency. It was there this morning, tucked under the windowsill, politely respecting our agreement of six weeks – “stay as long as you like, but stay where you are”. I distinctly recall saying “have a nice day spider” as I left for work.
Maybe bedroom widow found the room a tad stifling, it was freaking hot today. Approaching midnight and the thermostat reads 82 degrees Fahrenheit on the main floor -unpleasant by any standard, I’m going to visualize lost widow blissfully sipping bug juice cocktails beneath soft cool mist falling from my garden canopy.
Downstairs is considerably cooler, almost bearable. As such, basement widow hasn’t made travel plans. Older, wiser and familiar with summer heat, basement widow is an asshole for not mentoring bedroom widow on the intricacies of household habitation. Greedy basement widow – I guess she wanted all the fat beetles for herself.
Anyone faced with losing a spider, knows to take stock of all house spiders. Basement widow was right where I left her, busily bundling a fat beetle.