285. Stressful situation

I get up in the morning. The sun is already showing signs of being the boss for yet an other day and I am thinking an other day when I have to pretend I'd rather have some rain.

I fancy coffee thigh bakes up there in the tiny village somewhere up in the next valley. (Yes. Up in the valley is possible here.) The one who only open this bakery on Friday afternoon. I used to be in love with a butcher. Now I am in love with a baker. This one is young. He wears glasses. Bright and big and blue. He has very short hair and a lovely smile. And I love the way he talks about bread.

Yet when I get in the kitchen I forget about the sweet baker and the lovely bread and I let out a steam.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. 

I scream out so loud I have probably woken up all the tourists in the village. They won't mind. It's a beautiful day.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah. 

I scream again. I don't why I scream again but I do as I run out into the garden far away from the terrible scene. I am in the garden now and the village dogs are barking and it might be because of my screaming. Cow bells are going too but it has nothing to do with my screaming. Cow bells go all the time. Even in the middle of the night. Cows must have midnight feasts.

The animal is still there. It is in the sink. I need to get to the sink to get water to make coffee. I need to be brave and go back into the kitchen. I am on my own. I cannot call my husband. I have to deal with this on my own. Can I? Am I able to do this? Am I ever going to be fit for the TGA?

Ok. Breathe. Calm. Get back inside. Breathe. Use your husband's method. If he can do it, so can you.

I grab a small glass jar. And a piece of thin cardboard. I approach the sink on my tippy toes. I try to stare and not to scream. Then in a swift rapid precise movement of the wrist I slam the glass jar over the animal. Slam. Got it. Do not scream and do not let go of the glass jar. Breathe. One. Two. Three. And again. 

OK. I am ready for the scary bit. I slide the piece of thin cardboard under the glass jar, making sure the animal obediently steps over it. And then it is trapped. Now I have to be brave enough to touch the cardboard on which the animal has stepped. Now I walk very very slowly through the open door, across the yellow lawn (good practice for Africa), through the gate, right into the lane, down past the houses, reach the end of the lane where it meets the 'road'. I say hello to the ducks and reach the low stone wall where I carefully place the jar and when I am certain it is safe I slid the paper out with shaky hands.

The gigantic spider is free. It legs it over the stone wall all the way into the field so fast I never knew spiders could run so fast. (Is it some    king of super big super fats super venomous spider? Have I just risked life and limb? I am definitely ready for Africa. 

I feel so brave. I turn the radio on - full blast. Everyone's awake now anyway. I wonder if my husband is in the office yet, and whether he would care to hear about the story of the gigantic deadly spider in the kitchen sink.