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My name is Liz. I need direction. I overuse commas. My house is a mess, my hair needs a trim and I have no marketable skills: It’s fun here, you’ll see!

Got a question, comment, proposal of marriage? Great! Email me at liz@theproductivecough.com

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Got a question, comment, proposal of marriage? Great! Email me at liz@theproductivecough.com

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February 17th, 2010

Squash First, Ask Questions Later

Due to my continued excellence in the field of housekeeping, I have managed (somehow) to neglect a corner underneath the window in the shower. Last week, I noticed a medium-sized brown spider living among the shampoo bottles and grime, curling and uncurling its legs. Instant heebie jeebies. I calmly mentioned it to Paul, who was watching TV: “DAMMIT THERE’S A SPIDER IN THE SHOWER!” He swiftly entered and smashed the thing without a word- he knows what his duties are around here.

A couple of days later, I found the spider’s buddy. She was a lot smaller than Spider 1, and wasn’t flicking her awful legs around, so I decided she could stay. Every time I took a shower (which I’d love to be able to say was every day, but can’t), Spider 2 and I saw each other. She never moved, or did anything creepy. She just sat there, happy to be in the steam.

Then last night I came home from the pool and Spider 2 was nowhere to be found. Oh no! I thought to myself. Paul must have killed her! How could he?! I understood why Paul had squashed her. It’s very clearly (un)written in his job description that he must destroy any and all arachnid intruders at any time of the day or night. He’d probably assumed he was the first to see her (she was in a spot that only someone with a crippling fear of the eight-legged would have checked) and wanted to kill her before I even realized she was there. But even so, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d lost a little pal. She was a good spider- calm, patient, respectful of my space and of a relatively non-threatening size.

When I stepped from the shower, I asked Paul, “Hey, did you kill that spider in the shower?” “Yeah. Like a week ago.” “Not today?” “Not today.”

Not today.

She was still alive. But she was NOT in her spot. Which could mean only this: She had tripled in size, laid eggs in my pillow and was lying in wait inside of my contact lens case. They’re all the same, those spiders, luring you into a false sense of security, often going so far as to make you think you’re friends, and then wreaking havoc on your little apartment. I should’ve killed her when I had the chance.

Now I have to throw away a perfectly good pillow AND get Lasik.

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