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I don’t kill bugs. It’s a value I’ve followed for as long as I can remember, with one exception.


All others get a free pass from me. I’ve developed a system to relocate bugs that have found their way into my house. It involves a glass and a stiff piece of paper, like a greeting card. It’s actually worked very well.

So yesterday I was into my morning routine, like most every morning. I’d gotten up early, made coffee and was at my computer working. After a couple of hours I needed to grab a shower and head to my office. Besides, I was cold and a warm shower sounded really good.

I headed upstairs, turned on the shower and stepped in.

There, waiting for me, nestled into a fold in the shower curtain was a spider.

A ginormous, really big, brown spider. I want to emphasize the word BIG.

Well I couldn’t relax into my shower with him watching me.

I stepped out and found my “relocation tools.”

Easy, peasy I got him into the glass.

Now I had to go back downstairs to release him.

I left the water running and dashed down in my birthday suit. A suit, I might add, that has enough years on it to have quite a few wrinkles that no amount of steaming will release.

It was the middle of the morning and I figured no one was around.

Cue the ominous, foreshadowing music.

I inched open the sliding glass door, put one foot onto the deck and released the spider. “Run free,” I said in a high, little girl voice. I think I spend too much time working alone! As I turned to head back inside, I caught sight of a face.

I looked up into the eyes of my neighbor, who had come into our yard to retrieve his son’s ball that had flown over the fence.

For that one awful embarrassing moment, he saw me. I saw him.

Really, what can one say? I opted for nothing. He did the same.

He hurried out of the yard and I dashed inside.

In an unspoken pact we agreed to never speak of this. Ever.

I was reminded of an event that had happened years ago, in my practice as a family therapist. I was at the health club, standing in front of my locker drying off. Round the corner came a young girl – a teen who was a client. She took one look at me, standing there with no clothes on and bolted. And that was long enough ago that my birthday suit was considerably less wrinkled! She didn’t keep her next appointment. Sometimes late at night when I have exhausted all of the other topics that keep me awake, I think about her.

What is it about our nakedness that is so shocking, so embarrassing, so shameful?

Come on, help me feel better. Have you had a similar experience?