I have a sincere and overwhelming fearish hate of spiders. Pure evil, by my estimation, although I am well aware of their beneficial presence in our world. Evil, nonetheless, I say.
One evening before bed a few days ago I went into the bathroom intending to brush my teeth. I was horrified to find a spider , one of the extra-long leg and skinny, segmented body variety, had spun a web between the bathroom wall and my toothbrush. There it sat, in its mockery of my hygiene, it what appeared to be a quite smug stance in its evil little web.
Obviously mortified, repulsed, and violated, I struck down on the woeful thing with great wrath and fury reducing it to a smug stain with one partial leg. The damage, however, had already been done to me. I swore not to use the horrible, spider-fondled toothbrush again.
A couple of days passed, and as I had not yet been fortunate enough to make it to the store for another toothbrush, my teeth were suffering the consequences of my oath against the arachnid’s doing. It was bed time again, and I recounted the story to my wife for the third time while holding my repeatedly-washed toothbrush in my hand. After many refusals to use the toothbrush again, the following verbal transaction ensued:
Wife: “Just use it. It was just a spider.”
Me: “But it nested on my toothbrush. It’s got evil on it!”
Wife: “Spiders are probably fairly clean.”
Me: “They are absolute evil.”
Wife: “Did you kill it?”
Me: “Of course, I killed it.”
Wife: “Well, then you won.”
The logic was profound. With a new sense of pride and victory, I brushed my teeth and felt okay about it. Needless to say, I’m still getting a new toothbrush.