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If this post is anything to go by, you could reasonably assume that isolation of sitting at home all day with CFS has finally pushed me over the border from ‘quirky’ to ‘weird’. This will probably come back to haunt me when my family drag it out as evidence of my incompetence so that they can have me forcefully committed and gain control of my fortune.
I’m going to post it anyway because I don’t have a fortune and never will have a fortune, but I do have a HECS debt and (the way things are going) will always have a HECS debt. So the joke will be on them. Suckers.
If you missed that first Austenified Spider you can find it here, but if you click the link hoping it will provide a logical reason for why this is happening and how it is funny, then you will be disappointed.
I wish I could promise you that this is the only time that I will post ridiculous cartoons of spiders in scenes from Jane Austen books. Doing so might stop a few of you unfollowing me. But I can’t, because it would be a lie. I don’t wish that at all. I love this. I love everything about this, including and especially because it’s stupid.
Also, drawing sideburns on cartoon Jane Austen characters (even if they’re spiders) was more fun than it should have been.
Do you ever wonder if spiders just want attention?
Maybe they don’t hang out in our showers because they are spiteful and want to ruin our mornings with a fight to the death over the shampoo. Maybe they just want to spend time with us, but don’t understand how humans do things. They watch how we interact with our pets and our friends and perhaps don’t realise that they can’t just copy and paste the behaviours that work for our cats.
This has happened to me twice.
I would like take the opportunity to point out to all spiders in my readership that this isn’t acceptable behaviour. Opening your eyes in the middle of the night to a spider-face inches from your own is not a fun or cute experience. After the second time I started getting flashbacks whenever I got into bed. If it happens for a third time then I may have to start sleeping hanging from the ceiling from like a bat.
And speaking of the ceiling, spiders, please don’t jump off it onto me. I don’t care what you’ve read, that’s not okay either.
The sensible part of me said not to include that last picture because it is obscure and silly, no one will get it and everyone will probably think I’m weird. The rest of me was still snort-giggling a week after coming up with it and saying: “Silly spider! Ask Louisa Musgrove how well that tactic works.”
Turns out the sensible part of me does not hold enough brain-shares to win a majority vote.
It did manage to push through a caveat in the form of a Venn diagram, though.
I hope that spiders work it out eventually. Perhaps the fiftieth time they are shepherded into jars and dumped in the garden, or when they watch you setting fire to your bed after they disappear somewhere in your bedroom, something will click in their little spider minds.
“Ohhh,” they will think. “I get it now. Boundaries.”
And then maybe if we could communicate with each other we could sort out some kind of truce.