Freaking Out

Can I tell you a story?…..I like to find quiet places when I leave the office for lunch and today I parked my car too close to some bushes rather than crowd another. Getting out, I was literally in the bush for a moment. At a bench I sat down to do my thing in the solitude and looking down at my lap I noticed there to be a tiny bug looking like a spider. Hey, I’m outdoors; what do I expect? Flicking it off of myself I went back to my pencil and paper. Another spider bug was sighted on my other pant leg. Okay, so now I am wondering if there’s more. Standing up I can see several have attached themselves to the lower parts of my slacks so I get busy shooing them away. Bothersome but nothing I can’t live with.

When time is up I head back to my car now wishing I didn’t have to get in the bush again to access my car door. It’s such a tight fit and I don’t have time to check myself over for these spider things before I am seated. Hoping I’m not carrying any of these creatures I head back to the office and stop in the bathroom. Sure enough, I find some more of these little things on my slacks. I do the dust away thing with my hands and am agitated when a couple don’t flick off but explode their tiny guts upon my pants, leaving small smears of themselves.

When I finally get to my desk it’s all I can do to not think about these tiny spiders and how many I may not have seen. Of course I am an imaginative person and my thoughts start to take off in the wrong direction but I’m trying to keep them in check. “No, that itch on your left hand is just a twitch…what was that on the back of my neck?…how come my cheek feels like there’s something there?…..” About the time I think I have myself in check mentally, one of these creepy little spiders drops from my hair onto the desk!

Outwardly, I tell my co-workers “I’m freaking out” in a voice as calm as can be (they already know about these spiders). Being compassionate (?) people they begin teasing me. Inwardly, I am the woman screaming at the top of her lungs, jumping up and down while I slap the crap out of myself, making sure I squash every living thing trying to catch a free ride on my carcass.

Need I share how fast I rid myself of clothing when I got home and rushed into a shower?

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