Last summer I found a tiny scorpion in my living room.  I smashed it pretty thoroughly, but it’s taken me almost a year to get over it.  Every time I catch an ant or speck of dust out of the corner of my eye my breath catches and I tense.  I always assume scorpion first, harmless beetle a very distant second.  Then I smash it.

I can’t tell you how much I hate scorpions.  They take my arachnophobia to a ridiculous degree.  It’s the thing I hate more than just about anything in the world, plus.  In the words of Samantha Who, “They’re like spiders…with knives.”  Over the past few months, though, I’ve relaxed.  I’ve started to assume ant, not knife-wielding spiders out to shank me.

Last night I found a scorpion in my kitchen.

I’ve had a relapse.