The massive spider that scared us to death

Close up of big hairy spiderIt was a pitch-black night when my boyfriend and I spotted the massive hairy spider walking up our windscreen.  It stopped.  Our eyes focused on the big dark silhouette at the same time, yet neither of us spoke.  I kept driving, eyes darting from it to the road.  Boyfriend remained silent.   I didn’t think to put the windscreen wipers on to flick it off.  I didn’t know if it was on the inside or the outside of the car.  So I waited until it started to walk again, then I would be able to tell by its leg movements if it was “in” or “out”.

It started a slow ascent further up the windscreen.  OMG!!!!  It was on the inside of the car!  I heard a high pitched woman’s scream – then realised it was my boyfriend. I was driving and didn’t know what to do – I just knew I had to get out of the car.  I swerved off the road and managed to stop my car before it nosed into a ditch.  I left the engine running and headlights on, threw open the door and ran down the lonely road.  My boyfriend ran past me.  His bravery was … noted.

Hands flapping in anxiety and jogging on the spot I said to him frantically “Go and kill it!”  He clutched my arm “I c c c c can’t” he stammered in terror.  “Did you see the size of that th th thing?”  I’m not into violence, but I felt like slapping him upside of the head with a dead fish.  “What will we do?”  I asked.

We anxiously clutched each other.  In the distance we saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle.  Would anyone stop for two people in the night?  I thought not.  I told him to go hide himself in the ditch and I would pretend I was a lone stranded woman.  Maybe a “brave” white-knight would come to my rescue.  But my brave soul wouldn’t let go of my arm.  So we stood there.  Waiting.  Together.

We were lucky that my car looked abandoned and the two people clutching each other in the rays of the headlights looked terrified.  The approaching car stopped.  Two young men got out and asked if we were ok.  “Spider” I said, pointing.  They burst out laughing, showed no fear and went to inspect the mammoth hairy beastie.  It was a mongrel of a thing, at least the size of a dinner plate!  {Ok, not really, but you know how big a huntsman can get right?  No…well they are also known as “giant crab spiders” so just image a spider the size of a crab!}

I thought they would take the spider out of the car and spare its life.  But instead, one of them took off his shoe and smacked the spider.  Dead.  I watched as a big burst of puss-like substance oozed down the window.  The carcass suspended on the glass for a moment then dropped to the dashboard where it remained.

Oh, “What happened to the boyfriend?” you may ask.  Well, I married him.  And he has since learned to kill spiders.

© 2015 CEW
Reposted from my old blog site

Image courtesy of: stockvault--spider-web138344

 

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The sausage casserole that was BANNED for life

Cartoon chef holding a casserole

“It’s just a sausage casserole. I swear it!”

Warning:  This post contains a seemingly x-rated image – but it’s really a sausage casserole!


I froze.  My new young husband was choking, red faced and making the noise our cat makes when hacking up a hairball.  But this was no hairball, this was my sausage casserole!  I unfroze and leapt towards him, thwacking him on the back between the shoulder blades with the heel of my hand.  Thwack,  Thwack.  He stilled for a moment.  “Is the casserole nice honey?” I asked hesitantly, trying to smile, which resembled more a grimace.  We all know that God didn’t bless me with the cooking gift.

He raised his fingers and started pulling a long clear looking thing out of his mouth which must have been flapping down the back of his throat.  He kept pulling, and pulling.  It was kinda long.  He held it up in front of me.  Oh, it definitely didn’t look good.  He glared at the long transparent object dangling from his fingers with a look of sheer horror.  He turned to me, the limp “thing” swinging from side to side as he raised it up even higher.  My eyes followed it.  Left.  Right.  Left. Right.  “What.   Is.  This?”  he asked. “Well, I know it doesn’t look like it should be in there…” I stuttered.    “Why is there a … condom … in my dinner?” he asked.

Oh my dear goodness gracious me!  It did sort of look like one of those.  I had a flash-back to the recipe.  Oopsie! I realised I should NOT have skipped the step where is said to partly boil the sausages  which would cause the skins to loosen and they should be peeled off before adding to the casserole dish.

“It’s a sausage skin!” I proudly announced.  If I looked confident maybe he would think it was part of the recipe.  But no.  I was banned from EVER cooking a sausage casserole again.

20 years later

It was time I jumped back on the sausage casserole band wagon.  We had two strapping sons now with big appetites and I was a lot more confident in my cooking, despite my kinship with kitchen disasters.  To get around my life-long ban from cooking sausage casseroles I would be “clever” and cook a – CHIPOLATA CASSEROLE!  {If it was really a sausage, it would be called a sausage, now wouldn’t it?}

The aroma from the slow-cooker which had been on for 8 hours was absolutely mouth-watering.  I knew my men would be impressed with my culinary skills this night.  I had cooked enough to feed our family for two nights.  Clever me!

A work colleague popped into my home for a meeting and we sat at the bench top.  Even he couldn’t resist the tempting sausage-scent and asked if he could peek under the lid.  Like a couple of naughty children we lifted the lid – and I’m not sure which one of us was the most embarrassed!  I shut the lid quickly and felt my face heat up and my glasses fogged.  He burst out laughing and said if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he would never have believed what he’d just seen.  I swore to him it was just my secret Chipolata Casserole!

Later that evening it was time to dish up my feast.

x-rated looking sausage casseroleMy husband and our boys, aged 20 and 18, were crowding the bench like hungry cave men, bellies grumbling.  I paused with my hand on the lid, hoping it looked better than the last time I peeked.  I ever so slowly lifted the lid.

Three men jumped backwards with pained expressions on their faces.

I lifted the ladle and they backed away even further, all muttering at the same time that they were not hungry any more.  They all refused to eat my Chipolata Casserole!  I don’t know why, it was mighty delicious.  It fed me for days.  They are traumatised for life.
©2015 CEW

Reposted from my old blog site

 

 

The terrible joke they played on Nanna

Angry old woman cartoonMy children could be little horrors at times!  Especially when they teamed up and wreaked havoc on the world.  My poor mum, their Nanna, didn’t realise how “good” they were at it until her false teeth became their victim…

When they were little boys, aged 6 and 8, their Nanna was babysitting them while I worked late.  She’d made them a nice dinner and cleaned up my kitchen.  The best babysitter! Unfortunately, she got a bit of food stuck in her false teeth and couldn’t get it out.  It was aggravating her so she asked the boys if they had a spare toothbrush anywhere.  “No Nanny” said grandson.  She explained she needed something “like a toothbrush” and 8yo remembered the nail-brush, which was good at cleaning things, so they ran to fetch it for her.

The little inquisitive boys followed their Nanna into the laundry.  She popped her false teeth out into her hand and started scrubbing them vigorously under running water with the nail brush.  The boys started giggling their little heads off.  Nanny loved the laughter and presumed they’d never seen false teeth before.  She was so wrong!  They started laughing, louder this time, cupping their hands over each-others ears and whispering, as little children often do.

Nanny asked them what was so funny.  They just laughed louder!  Her Nanna-radar was beeping that something didn’t seem quite right.  Surely their laughter should have eased up by now.  She put her false teeth back in and turned to the boys, hands on hips, and asked them to fess up.  “Ok boys, tell Nanny the truth.  What’s so funny?”

Oh, the little angels could hardly contain themselves.  “Well, out with it!” demanded Nanny.  Through fits of laughter, 6yo said “Nanny, you are so funny?”  “Why? Surely it wasn’t that funny, was it?” she asked.

“Yes it was Nanny … ‘cos that’s the brush Daddy uses to get the dog poo off our gumboots!”

The little horrors broke down into hysterics again.

Nanny rushed back to the basin and washed her false teeth with soap and water, muttering under her breath!

Prologue:  Nothing much has changed with those two sons of mine over the years.  They have been completely exasperating at times with their antics.  Those same little boys are now 20 and 22 years old.  Their favourite victim now is their Dad; with Nanny coming in a close second!
©2015 CEW

Reposted from my old blog site

 

I married a scary sleepwalking zombie

Zombie sleepwalker in front of moon“My name is Cathy and my husband is a sleepwalker.”  Sounds like a confession, doesn’t it?  But he’s not just a sleepwalker, he’s also a sleep eater!  I’ve discovered that sleepwalking and sleep eating are related.  {What a shame there’s not a sleep cleaning disorder.}

My first encounter with his sleepwalking was like a combined scene from the Walking Dead and Shrek.  It was a dark and stormy night, just after the midnight hour {now it’s sounding like a horror story}.  As a light sleeper I felt him get out of bed and walk out of the front door of our home.  I sat up with the realisation that he’d just gone outside.  I scurried barefooted onto the porch in my shorty-nighty … peering into the inky night {I’m setting the scene for you now}.  But I couldn’t see him anywhere.  Maybe he heard a prowler and he was going to investigate.  This scared me as he’s a lover, not a fighter!  I walked further outside, shivering, arms clasped across my stomach.  I heard a noise coming from the side of the house.  I tip-toed and peeked around the corner, heart drumming against my ribs.  There he was, standing with his nose almost touching the bricks and scratching them with his hands.  I asked him what he was doing.  Eerie silence.  I approached him and asked louder this time “Sweetie, are you okay?  What are you doing?” 

Donkey saying Dont you be lookin at me girlHe stopped scratching and turned his head slowly to look at me, Zombie-like.  With the muted glow from the streetlight illuminating his face I saw that his wide open eyes were looking straight through me.  With a monotone voice he said ever so slowly “Getting a drink, fat ass.”  I looked over my shoulder hoping there was an overweight donkey standing behind me.  No such luck.  It was just he and I.  He turned back to the bricks and began scratching again.

I had heard that you should never wake a sleepwalker, but I didn’t know why.  So I reached towards him and tugged on the collar of his pyjamas, which after a few attempts prompted him and he went inside.  I didn’t sleep at all that night because he didn’t come back to bed.  He went into the lounge room and laid on the floor, crossed his arms across his chest like a vampire nesting in his coffin, raised his feet up to rest on the coffee table and he slept soundly.

His sleepwalking continued over the next few years.  He would wander around the house, raid the fridge of any chocolate he could find, then fall asleep in a chair.  We had our two little boys now and moved into our new home at the end of a court.  I was still a very light sleeper and, for the second time in our marriage, I heard the front door open and he was off again!  As I darted to the front door I saw him on the front porch.  He was stark naked staring down the street and he began bellowing our cats name in his booming voice “WINKY!  WINKY!”  I couldn’t grab his collar this time, so I reached out and grabbed his … ear lobe, and led him back to bed.

In the morning when I was making our coffees I found his dressing gown rolled up in a tight ball sitting inside the kitchen sink.  Cat biscuits were strewn across the benches.  I went to our bedroom, looked down at him, poked him awake and said “Do you know what you did last night?”  As he roused, his lips started twisting and pulling in all directions.  “Are you having a stroke now?” I asked with sarcasm.  “Ewww, what’s that taste in my mouth?”  I couldn’t help but smile as I divulged “Oh, that would be the cat biscuits love!”

As our boys grew into their teenage years their Dad’s sleepwalking became a cause for excitement and adventure.  Some nights if one of them heard their Dad walking around the house they would wake the other and film his antics with their mobile phones.  I threatened them with violence if I found out they had ever uploaded them on YouTube.  On one such night I awoke to the boys giggling like a pair of schoolgirls standing over our bed, hands over their mouths stifling their laughter, watching their Dad balancing a big marrow on his stomach.  {A marrow is a big green vegetable that I was going to stuff with mince and cook the next day.} 

Their adventure this night was to discover their Dad lounging in his recliner and they convinced him that the marrow was our cat.  Each time they went to “pat” the marrow, their Dad would slap them and tell them to go away.  Finally fed up, he stood, cuddling the marrow securely to his chest and lovingly took “her” back to bed with us.  I awoke with the marrow snuggled down warmly between us.

The boys love that their father is a sleepwalker.  And true to their word they have not uploaded any clips onto YouTube.  They’ve fed him dog biscuits after convincing him it was chocolate, filmed him throwing the kitchen sponge around the house as if it was toxic and much more.  But those videos do make a showing and are highly entertaining at family gatherings.

How do my sons and I cope with a chronic sleepwalker?

We go on the journey with him and enjoy the adventures as a family. 

And I wouldn’t change it for the world!
©2015 CEW

Reposted from my old blog site