I’ve been encouraged to go bare foot more often. It’s good for my feet apparently. I’m not one for sandals and I’m about thirty years too young to be wearing slippers. So I spend most of the time around the house bare foot. Well, up until last night anyway.
I was returning my mug to the kitchen. It really wasn’t worth putting the light on for that. I know the way to the sink. A journey I’ve made many times. What could possibly go wrong.
Pop. Under foot, something actually popped and crunched just a little. It felt and sounded like I’d trod on a crouton. In the dark shadows I couldn’t see what it was, but I knew what it wasn’t. It wasn’t a crouton.
The light in the hall came on, “You OK in there?”
“Do croutons have legs?”
A tangled mass of legs and body lay on the floor. I thought at first that it was small rodent, however close, queasy inspection confirmed that it was an ex spider, an ex giant spider.
I quickly swept it aside and grabbed a dirty tea towel and mopped up the juice before anyone else had to face the carnage.
“What did you do?”
“Can I help? Can I get you something?”