A while back, Desiree and I stocked up on paper towels. I lugged a couple of packs into the house and stored two others on a set of shelves in the garage. The day before yesterday, needing to replenish our indoor supply, I retrieved a pack from the garage and plunked it down on the kitchen countertop to break out a few rolls.
That’s
where a plot twist occurred.
A
rather large, albeit dead, black widow spider tumbled free from the plastic
wrapping and landed on the counter.
Live
black widows pretty much top my list of creepy things. Dead ones still rank
very near the top, barely
conceding the difference. A dead black widow is proof, which I do not require,
that black widows consider my garage a suitable address. And they remain
entirely scary-looking even when dead. The too-deep black is still black, and
their legs pull up tight, forming what looks like a grim, grisly birdcage.
All
I wanted was a couple of rolls of paper towels.
—Mitchell
Hegman
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