As much as I love nature, I hate bugs. I mean, I really hate them. I LOATHE them. In fact, I go through extraordinary lengths to avoid them—like spraying my entire body with bug spray, putting on clothes, and then spraying all over my clothes with bug spray. This is one of the reasons I love living 21 stories up. There aren’t many bugs up there!
But because I love to take walks in the woods, I occasionally run across a bug or two. If a bug ever comes near me, my usual reaction is to freak out and flail my arms about, screaming, while Iwanski stands there, staring at me in amusement. (OK, sometimes he’ll help pick the bug off my skin, if I scream for long enough.)
So this weekend, when we were leaving the boat from our Wisconsin Dells boat tour and I felt a picking sensation in my rear-end, I headed straight to the bathroom to check it out. Pulling down my pants, I shrieked. A spider was crawling around in my underwear! I began shaking my clothes furiously, screaming like a banchee, while the spider danced around, trying to get his footing, and eventually (finally!) dropped to the floor and scuttled under the empty toilet paper tube that was lying there.
I kept shaking my clothes—I wanted to make sure there were no more spiders in there—and finally I pulled up my pants and high-tailed it out of the bathroom to go tell Iwanski the horror I had just experienced.
So yeah, there was a spider crawling around in my underwear. That was definitely the worst part of my weekend.