No wasps this time.
I was in the ensuite bathroom with the light on and the bedroom was lit too. But my 9 year old daughter Sarah, like most children, thinks it’s highly amusing to switch off the light to leave me grovelling in the dark. So, as I entered the bedroom, it was pitch black. “Little tinker!” I muttered to myself, then proceeded to sit on the bed and wait till my eyes adjusted to the vision.
What I did not know was, I was not alone in the room. Somebody else was on my bed and it wasn’t my husband. Eight legs ran towards me as if in a marathon, and “Agh! Agh! Agh! AGH!”
I grabbed the side of the duvet to try to trap it, but Mr Spider hurtled towards my pillow. By this time, me and the duvet were on the floor. I gingerly lifted my pillow and Incy ran back towards me in the other direction.
After 20 minutes, my husband Anwar, decided that he’d better check to see if I was dead – but there was no rush, no urgency, because he annoyingly suspected what was true. It was only the presence of a creature that was making me scream.
Nevertheless, he proceeded to clean the spider residue of from the bed, owing to a barrage of accusations from me going something like this: “Anything could have been happening to me, but on no, you just stay where you are while I get murdered. Nice to know you care enough to stop what you were doing. Thanks a lot!”
I pottered around trying to ignore the ‘Thou shalt not kill’ verse, together with ‘God has not given you the spirit of fear, blah blah…’
Well. Now. Yesterday evening, another spider decided to take the same obstacle course and flight path as his predecessor. It’s as if there’s an invisible race course running along my side of the bed to the finishing line which is my pillow!
I couldn’t catch this one and as it was late, I thanked God for bunk beds, sent my beloved a text message, crept into the next room and slept the entire night hovered above Sarah.
I woke up stiff and achy and entered the bathroom murmuring, “Why can’t the wretched things just get lost?” Of course they were doing just that – beneath my sheets. There was only one thing for it – I must not put off vacuuming under the bed any longer. Who knows what’s under there? Now I do like a clean and tidy house but when it comes to dust, I somehow ignore it. Anwar often gets out the duster or vacuum cleaner and then I feel guilty. But if I can’t see what’s under the bed to me, it’s not there. That is, until today. I’m not sure what webs are made of, but dust probably plays a part. I am not giving any insects a reason to hide, nest and make a home anywhere near where I sleep.
Thankfully, we’ve got one of those old divan beds that come in two vertical halves and clip together in the middle. I have known for a long time that the clips had broken off and the two halves were slowly drifting apart. It was obvious that one day our knees would suddenly flip down the sides, making our heels bang on the floor, sending our second base skating across the room. But those mattresses are so blooming heavy that I have kept putting off sorting things out.
You want to know what I found under there?
A pair of socks
One hair grip
A quarter packet of Mentos chewing gum.
A screwed up piece of paper
A rubber band
Dust. Lots of it.
When we allow rubbish to accumulate in our lives, gossip, laziness, apathy, complacency, putting other priorities before spending time with God, the dust builds up. It will eventually attract the wrong things to come and bug us, then annoy us, scare us, oppress us, weaken us. And it will be harder to remove them than if we had kept on top of things, by watching our words, attitudes, habits…
Regular dusting is far more beneficial to us than a sudden, emergency overhaul that involves having to strip the bed down and shift a mattress that weighs a ton and a half.
I found out where Incy and his cohorts are coming in from:
The shower hole thingy in the ensuite.
Now look again…
I knew those olive tubs would be useful for something one day.