I won't even say the word....

There was a general consensus at work today that the real reason a boy/man-friend is desired is to have someone to get rid of [unmentionables]. All those other reasons — companionship, intimacy, handy-man skills, back scratcher, technology consultant, garbage-taker-outer — pale in comparison. Or, at least this time of year, when the Giant House [Unmentionables] emerge from their crevices in search of a mate.

I understand and respect the role of [unmentionables] in the ecosystem. But I will state outright that the dwellings we humans occupy are mostly unsuited for the ecosystem, being so distant in design from their cave origins and unlikely to absorbed by the forces of nature were we to suddenly become absent. Therefore, our modern homes are wholly inappropriate for the arachnid life form.

Furthermore, I have not invited any of these furtive crawlers into my home. They are intruders. They are home invasion robbers here to steal my sense of well-being, ratchet up the jitter index and heighten the anxiety factor.

One night last week I caught one in a frantic scurry up the stairs to my bedroom. Whack! Get OUT! Bam. Done away with.

Last night there was another, perilously close to my head on the wall above my bed. Whack! Whack! Scream! Thunk! Finished off.

Once in bed with the light off, it was all I could do to imagine legions of [unmentionables] on the march, up the stairs, across the carpet, destination: my bed.

And, for the record, I've chosen not to enhance this post with a photo.

But the question remains: how in hell am I going to get to sleep after spending 40 minutes writing about my fear of [unmentionables]?