So I went into my bathroom earlier and saw a dried-out husk of a spider clinging to the back of my bathrobe. I thought to myself “Well that’s gross, I wonder how long that’s been hanging on there.” I forgot about it till later when I came back to the bathroom. Deciding I was disturbed enough with the idea of crispy spider legs brushing against me after a shower, I took some toilet paper and made to grab the dead spider. Zombie alert! The spider sprang to life, scrabbling across my robe and falling to the floor. I shrieked and jumped backward, because ol’ legs happened to be running toward me. Disgusted, I plopped New Moon by Stephanie Meyer on top of the clearly-not-dead arachnid, squishing it but good. My heart was pounding after that, because no one likes zombie spiders chasing them in the small confines of their bathroom.

When I told my story to Jon, he made some comment about my toilet book. “My toilet book?” I queried, to which he corrected me, repeating “your Twilight book.” He did allow as how “toilet book” was an acceptable term for any member of the Twilight series, though. :P