I had just begun to shampoo my hair when I noticed I wasn't alone.
Oh my God, spider!!!
Do I kill it?
It is pretty small, so maybe it's a baby.
I don't want to kill a baby.
My guilt riddled anthropomorphism made me feel attached to this "baby" spider and I decided I didn't have it in me to kill it.
So I left it alone. And continued my usual bathing ritual. Rinsed my hair. Soaped up all the nooks and crannies and rinsed them out.
I tried to forget it was there, but it was clearly watching me. Glaring. I glared at the spider, it glared back. We exchanged awkward, knowing glances.
And then I realized that I was naked. And it was glaring at me, naked.
I felt oddly self- conscious. Standing there, bare before the spider. It must have thought I was some sort of Lena Dunham-esque exhibitionist, baring my copious flesh every time I entered its shower habitat.
So there I stood, naked, anxiously glaring at a spider.
Was it judging me?
Had it seen my neighbors nude as well?
Did it rank us?
Baby or not, it had seen me nude and it had to go.
I turned off the water, dried myself off and stepped out. I grabbed a piece of toilet paper and turned around to seal the spider's fate.... But it was gone.
He just stayed to watch me shower.
And I felt violated. And really, really dirty.
But I can't shower again, because you know... the pervy spider....
Clearly, I can never shower again.