A few weeks ago on a Sunday morning, I walked into the bathroom and looked at the mirror. Apparently, I wasn't the only one having a look: there was a spider the size of a tarantula spread out on the mirror. I tried to apply the old cardboard-under-a-glass trick to move her outside. She would have none of it. She escaped my little temporary spider cage in a flash and took off for heaven-knows where. I haven't seen her since, and it's taken me this long not to enter the bathroom in abject fear.
Then there was the snake. It was long and had a very fat head, possibly from having just swallowed some lunch. It reared its fat, bright, multi-colored head as snakes are wont to do, and I let out a blood-curdling scream. Fortunately, there was a man nearby who lifted the snake onto a long stick and found him a new home, away from me.
I have a whole new respect for Albert Schweitzer.
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