Spiders are about the only thing that really creep me out. I guess it has something to do with eight independently moving legs. Growing up I was tossing a towel into the hamper and noticed something squirming in the background. After closer inspection I uncovered a nightmare nest of a mother and about five million babies spiders that were alive and kicking.
There was only one way to dispose of this horrid web of terror and I knew the perfect weapon. Since my sister was in the habit of teasing her hair to it’s length to create an afro of curly stickiness, I grabbed a can of Aqua Net. I then located one of the numberous lighters that ignited Dad’s lung candy. I was fortunate enough not to burn our home down, but I gave them a hurricane of flame broiling that turned them into the crispiest of critters. The cremation ceremony was finalized with a quick flush of the deceased. My family was now safe from a pending arachnid avalanche for whoever emptied the hamper.
Where do you really call Home? Is it the place you were born or the place where you’ve lived the longest? Is it the place where all of your stuff is? I would say it’s where you want it to be. I mean, my kids were both born in Tennessee, but they are really from South Carolina. Even though my son wears Mountaineer gear and my daughter wants to constantly visit Orlando. But just remember nobody wants a backstory. They just want to know where you currently live because they want to judge your accent and speech patterns.
When I tell people I’m from West Virginia I usually hear. “Oh what part? I love Roanoke and the Shenandoah Valley!” I have to say. “You know West Virginia is a whole separate state right?” It’s like having to explain to someone. “I’m from South Carolina” and hearing. “Oh, I just love the Charlotte area!”
When I travel up North I hear, “You don’t sound like you are from South Carolina”. Yeah, I know! I’ve picked up a hybrid accent from West Virginia, Alabama, Tennessee, and the Carolina’s. I do my best to enunciate and speak clearly, but once I’m tired I’m not sure which dialect will surface. Sorry for the backstory.
I don’t puke that easily, so cleaning up my kids vomit is not an issue. It’s weird, it’s like God gives you an anti-upchuck receptors for you own children.
However, once I smell my own own stomach contents the upchuck flows effortlessly. While I’m down there commode hugging, if I haven’t cleaned the toilet recently, it moves matters forward as well. The worst case is when I was staying with my Granny in Nitro when I was about 10 years old. I was sleeping on a cot in the dining room and woke up hollering vomit into my pillow and it splashing all over my face and overflowing into the floor. It just kept flowing and woke everyone up in the house. It had to be the butter flavored Crisco popcorn and Cool Ranch Doritos having an argument on who gets the last bite of overcooked fried chicken.