You know that morning where you wake up gently, feeling well-rested, and a nagging suspicion niggles at you that all is not right and you realize it's a bit lighter out than it should be?
That was Saturday morning for me.
I leisurely reached over my head for my phone/alarm clock and checked the time. 7:30. I was supposed to be walking out the door at 7:30. YIKES! I checked real quick to see if my alarm was set and set for AM instead of PM. Check and check. My best guess is that a double dose of allergy meds and a heavy painkiller zonked me out so I slept through the alarm. Oops.
I scrambled into my barn clothes, slid across the wood floor in my socks, and stumbled out into the loft where I yanked on my mucking boots and barreled out the door with a package of pop tarts in hand. I was on the Interstate, munching on my pop tart when I noticed something horrendous.
A god-forsaken CENTIPEDE was crawling UP MY THIGH!
I shrieked like a banshee.
I didn't even think. I just grabbed the wheel with the pop tart hand and flung it off my leg with my barn-gloved hand. I stopped shrieking, eeked out a couple dry sobs, thanked God I was still in my lane and hadn't caused an accident, then realized something awful.
It's still in my car.
Somewhere.
Lurking.
I think it came from my boot. Which means it came from my loft. Which means there could be more in the apartment.
But for now, there is still one...somewhere in my car.
Lurking.