Missing (possibly eaten): Fat puppy who doesn't come at all when you call so don't bother.

 So, I was in my bathroom this morning getting ready for work and I had an eerie feeling. 

It was like something was watching me. 

I shook it off and continued to tweeze, my face pressed up against the mirror because I am completely blind without my glasses on. 

There it was again, that feeling.  Something is definitely watching me. 

Where is the dog?  Usually, it's the dog. 

No dog. 

What the eff? 

Then, I happen to look up at the light.  What the hell is that?  Is something there? 

                                                                                                                         

 I put my glasses on to get a better gander. 

                                                                                                   

Holy shit!  A spider!  A BIG spider!!!

AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! 

I flail myself backwards, tweezers flying into the toilet and mouthwash spitting onto the ceiling.

  Yes, I multitask in the bathroom. 

Especially when I overslept because I had a fat puppy sleeping on my head and now I'm running late for work. 

Once I regain my footing and my breath, I carefully move my bras, pajamas, flip flops, underwear and other valuables from under the beast. 

Yes, I keep all of these things on my bathroom sink.  Have you never had a puppy with a taste for unmentionables? 

I also carefully grab my wedding ring from the medicine cabinet.  Again, a puppy with a taste for...well, everything. 

Then, I decide to go in for a closer look.  I like to know what I'm up against before I begin battle. 

Not that I'm really going to do battle.  Running late and all. 

There's no time to attack. 

Plus, he's kinda blocking access to my hair spray, the only weapon at hand. 

What I'm going to do is get the hell out of the bathroom and let my husband handle this.  He'll probably come in and pick up the spider with his bare hands and take it outside to live a full, happy spider life. 

Then, he'll go on about how he's some kind of hero.

Then, I won't be able to touch my husband for an indeterminate amount of time. 

Sorry, MB's Mom. 

No grandchildren anytime soon. 

Irriational arachnophobia trumps intimacy everytime. 

'You wanna touch me where?  With that hand?  No way.  I know what's been in that hand!"

Ick. 

You can't see it in these pictures, but there is a very distinct red coloration on the mouth of the monster.  I believe it to be the blood of his last victim. 

Wait.  Where IS the dog?