Picture it:

I'm sitting here at my desk, squirming.

It occurs to me that I'm squirming because I need to use the restroom. (Yeah, I'm kinda dense about some things. Frankly, some of you would probably edfanot want to 'picture it'. Don't think I'd blame you.)

Anyway, I make my way back to the spacious men's room here in the Yip building, on Yip Boulevard, in beautiful downtown Yip. I do my 'business'.
I shall refrain from offering specifics of the event.

*Mrs. Manners* Thank you.

I turn to the marble-inlaid (in designs of little butterflies and flowers) sink.

There it is, glaring at me.
A spider.

My first inclination is to scream like a six year old girl (who wears her hair in pigtails, of course).
I feel the shriek welling up inside, about to burst forth, when it hits me; I'm bigger than the spider. Bigger by probably 155 pounds or so, and about 5 foot, 9 inches. Why, this spider can't possibly weigh more than a few pounds, and is only about 2 inches tall.

Yeah. I've got the upper hand here. What's more, he (She? I didn't turn the little marauder over to check.) is right below the hot water faucet.

Deftly, with lightening speed, I turn the hot water on.
Full force.
The spider, kicking and screaming, swirls down the drain.

Yeah. I'm butch. Do NOT mess with me.

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