More From the Creepy Crawlies
Frances had Christmas on the mind:
“A Wii is the best gift a man can give to another man,” he sighed.
Mom was unmoved by his request, however. Besides, there was more confusion in the living room. Another spider had been sighted, this time on the television cabinet.
“Spider! Spider! Spider!” Rose yelled.
“Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!” Linnea chanted.
“Oh, I can’t stand it,” Mom said. “The little thing just came in to get out of the cold.”
Both Rose and Linnea were huddled on the couch on the other side of the room.
“Mom! He’s crawling all over your doily!” Linnea shouted.
“He’s doing a dance on it!” Rose announced.
“That’s alright,” Mom said calmly, already moving on to other things.
Collette never heard what became of the spider’s fate.
The kitchen table was covered in stacks of Carrie’s old clothes. She was following the Tim Ferriss notion of selling off unnecessary items in her room. Plato’s Closet would receive the bulk of it. But first the table was opened to bids from Rose, who shelled over some cash for various articles she found appealing.
“Ooooh! Leather jacket!” Frances slipped it on.
His shoulders almost popped through the seams.
“Frances, if you break that…” Carrie warned. “This is my merchandise, guys.”
“If we hear a rip, Frances’ nose will be somewhere in Toledo,” Mom said.
“Oh, now it’s contaminated,” Rose groaned. “Take it off, Frances. Defume! Defume! I mean – fumigate! Fumigate!”
In the end, after a trip to Trader Joe’s (where Collette fell into temptation and bought a box of peppermint Oreo-like cookies), Plato’s Closet only took several of Carrie’s clothing items (including the leather jacket and a “Nightmare Before Christmas” scarf).
“Oh, well, better find someplace else to unload all this crap,” Carrie said too loudly, as the clerk handed her $37.50 for her efforts.
Puck spent his day chewing on the old red plastic spoon and giggling. Collette had taken to calling him her “wiggling giggling”, because that was mostly what he did those days. He was a slick one, taking off through the house as fast as his chubby baby arms would scoot him.
That night, OLeif made broccoli soup from scratch and “stretched out his gut” (as Uncle Mo might say) on the couch for the rest of the evening.