I found a bag of plastic spiders at one of those discount seasonal retailers – small, black, creepy. They were perfect.
The next morning, I placed one under my wife’s coffee mug. Undoubtedly, she would see the spider, realize the irrational nature of her fear and then overcome her crippling anxiety as if by magic.
Clearly, a miscalculation.
Her instincts were ruthless and vicious as I watched her seize my laptop and repeatedly bash the two-cent piece of plastic into oblivion.
“That’s the spirit, dear,” I deadpanned, mentally calculating the cost of both a new computer and a new marble countertop.
The Weekday One Hundred 