Ode to A Clean Garage

I downed a glass of Herbalife courage and cautiously opened the door. I promptly closed the door, went to the phone, and asked my mom to pray for me. Now, physically and spiritually prepared, I made my plan of attack. I wish I had a picture of how RIDICULOUS I appeared when next I opened that door. Long pants, long socks and tennies, tee shirt tucked into pants, light hoodie over the tee shirt, hair in a braid, baseball cap over the braid, and hood over the baseball cap. Enough, you think? No. I also had on rubber gloves to be certain I never had to touch one of the hundreds of spiders I knew to be lurking in that garage. After creating a walled in space right outside the garage where little man could safely play, I turned on Pandora and “got to it”. Oh my goodness, did that place get clean. Wow, it was exhilarating . Five hours later, after a lunch break in the middle, I emerged triumphant. The place had even been vacuumed. I entered my laundry room no longer afraid to return to my garage in socks. I will even walk by the garage door without cringing, now that I know the TARANTULA who formerly resided there has been killed and sucked into my vacuum.

As I sucked down web after web into the vacuum hose, I had to wonder how the spiders would feel when they came out of hiding to find their webs destroyed, the environment smelling of lavender dusting spray, and the dead flies they were feasting on, disappeared. Here is what I imagine they felt. And being theatrical by nature, I imagine them singing it…

Ode to A Clean Garage

From a spider...

Oh dusty room of bygone days,

Where once we lived in secret ways,

Now on a foreign space we gaze,

Vision dimmed by tearful haze,

With grief for you, our glasses raise.

Clean.

Where be the freshly dying flies?

How did we miss the vacuum’s cries

Of warning while its hose would rise,

Its mistress making webs her prize?

A prison born, a playroom dies.

Clean.

Now we must work, new webs to spin,

While she inspects with wicked grin,

As if she thinks that we won’t win,

That we can’t overtake again,

That she can rule our special pen!

Clean.

She may believe that she knows best,

But she’ll soon sit, and we’ll not rest-

We’ll scatter and each build a nest

And prove to her whom we detest

That she does not have us impressed.

Clean?

Yet it is now a week or more,

And with each opening of the door

Our hopes glow dim, her spirits soar,

Our losses grow and and leave us sore.

Scared. Attacked. Sanitized, and more.

Clean.

Join us.

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