How to Get in My Pants

Word to the wise: don't ever surprise me a.) during a nap, or b.) in the middle of the night. Because chances are, I won't be wearing pants.

There's just something irritating about sleeping in pants, the way they tangle around my legs and cause me to feel all hot and smother-y. So, at least until my boys are old enough to be irreversibly traumatized by the sight of my dimply bum, I take them off whenever I'm in bed. (The exception is when Curtis works nights; I'd hate to waste the time covering my bottom half when I'm solely responsible for evacuating the house in case of an emergency.)

Anyway.

I indulged in the luxury of a family nap today. Curtis and the boys were laying down, so I thought why not? I peeled off my jeans and hoisted my huge self into the bed (side note: I'm officially 8 months pregnant and soon to be in need of a crane).

When we got up, I decided that since we wouldn't be going anywhere for the rest of the day, I'd just throw on my beloved stretchy black pants. Ahhh, comfort.

I peed, got a cookie, chased Cameron around for a couple minutes, and then went to go sit in the living room. When I flopped onto the couch, I felt a pinchy, itchy feeling on the back of my left thigh. I stood up to see what I'd sat on, but there was nothing there. So I put my hand down to scratch the itchy spot and felt something ... inside my pants.

WTF?

Whatever it was, it felt kind of hard and nuggety. (My immediate thought was a little piece of granola or something. Hey, you never know what you might find - anywhere - with kids around.) I rolled it around in my fingers for a second, then pulled down my pants to further inspect.

????

OMG OMG OMG OMFG - it was a SPIDER!!!!!!

I jerked my pants the rest of the way off like they were on fire, with a scream so high-pitched that it's a wonder the neighbors didn't call the cops. I couldn't believe that, not only had I been walking around with an effin' spider in my pants, but that it had bitten me - an itchy little puncture wound proved it.

"I'm going to die!" I wailed dramatically, dancing around the living room naked from the waist down. (In front of the window ... you're welcome, neighbors.) Curtis sat at the computer, seemingly unconcerned that his wife had probably just been bitten by a black widow or something.

"Come get this spider out of my pants so we can see what kind it is!" I whined, hopping from one foot to the other. I envisioned myself mere moments away from keeling over in intense pain, sweating and foaming at the mouth, and succumbing to death by spider bite.

Sighing as though it were some kind of imposition, Curtis dragged himself reluctantly from the computer and picked up the offending pants, giving them a shake.

"Don't shake them so hard!" I shrieked, clambering onto the couch with surprising agility. "I don't want him to fly out of there!"

Gingerly, he reached into the leg and turned it inside out. Nothing. Then he did the same with other leg ... and nothing. He looked at me skeptically.

"It was there!" I insisted. My eyes frantically searched the floor because I just knew the freaking spider was lurking down there somewhere, waiting to exact his revenge on the people who had ousted him from "his" pants. And sure enough, I spotted something moving along the carpet. "There he is!" I screeched, pointing.

"This isn't a spider," Curtis said.

I looked. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a spider. And I wasn't going to die (thank the Lord!). But it was a BEETLE! Some sort of gross beetle with pinchy mouth-parts. It was almost as scary as a spider ... almost.

This story comes with a valuable lesson, kids: always know who's getting in your pants, or it could bite you in the ass.