Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
I am Little Miss Muffet.
Yeah, that’s something I never thought I’d say. I woke up early this morning with a raging cold (that’s what I get for volunteering to help homeless people and to help put an engine in a sailboat in 35 degree weather). To add insult to injury a spider decided to crash my pity party this morning. Admittedly, I was eating boiled eggs and not curds and whey (whatever that is), and I was sitting in bed and on a tuffet (whatever that is), but the rest of the poem holds true. This little bugger just dropped down from my ceiling to say hello. I immediately shouted for the only member of my family in possession of a Y chromosome to come take care of it. He did and I went back to my bed to finish my breakfast. Looking back on it, I feel kind of bad about killing my little arachnid intruder. He wasn’t really hurting me; he was just hanging out. But he did make me squirm for an hour afterward in anticipation of further creepy-crawlies, so maybe I don’t feel so bad.
After that, I finished a murder mystery (An English Murder by Cyril Hare). I started another book, but soon I was too tired, and I went back to sleep. Throughout the morning, I woke up sporadically and heard my family preparing to go to church. I did try to get up, but it didn’t really work. When I finally did get up, it was only because I had to use the facilities. My mom took my temperature and I’m at 102, so that’s not cool (haha, I made a funny). I’ve been spending the rest of my morning watching TV shows on Netflix, the sick person’s best friend. Now Netflix isn’t working quite right, so I’m writing a blog post. Later, I have to do some sort of school thing for my Regent University class that starts tomorrow (public speaking, ugh!). I hope your Sunday morning is going better than mine.