I need a paper towel.
There has been a dead spider in my bathroom since Friday morning. I saw it in the mirror around 6:15a.m., as I was getting ready for my exam. It's too bad there was no one else there, because I'm sure the look on my sleep-deprived face was fucking priceless. After the half-second I completely froze, trying to determine exactly where it was on the wall behind me (so as to not flail myself right into it), I ran to my kitchen cabinet. I grabbed the can that looks like WD-40, with the little straw, except it's probably the most lethal pesticide you can legally purchase in the states. The maintentance man in my building let me keep it after I called him to kill the ginormous tarantula that walked right in when I left my window open too long last summer. Before you make fun, even he said "holy shit, that's the biggest thing I've ever seen." Anyway, a little spray from this can will kill an elephant and probably all the plants within fifty feet of it. Of course, I can never let it go with one quick spray, I have to keep spraying so the little fucker doesn't run under the cabinet to die. Which results in my entire apartment smelling like a chemical factory, which I know will end up giving me some kind of messed up cancer. But as my friend said, "Well, if that doesn't give it to you, something else will," and...that's a fair point.
So anyway, the spider curled up and died in the corner of the bathroom. I'm always afraid they'll come back to life, so I left it to soak up the pesticide while I went to take my exam. The problem now is that it's really too big to pick up with toilet paper, and I keep forgetting to bring a paper towel with me when I go to the bathroom. I know, there's really no end to my laziness. But it's Saturday night now and I'm a little worried that soon his family is going to realize he's missing, and go looking for him. Tomorrow morning I'll go to wash my face and 53 daddy long-legs will be lined up on my bathmat having a fucking wake. That's all I need.