COUNTDOWN ALERT:  SIX MORE DAYS TO FIGHTBALL: DYING OF SUCK!

In the meantime, I give you this:

Kallan rummages around in the silverware drawer for a spoon as she mutters, “I don’t know why we put up with this. Other families have spoons.”

“Do not use a spoon to scoop dead bugs.”

“Mom, you do not even know that’s what I am planning on doing.”

I point to the lidded plastic container she is holding, a small half-cup container that would generally be used to hold snacks. “What’s in there?”

She holds it up to the light. “A bug. Obviously.”

“OK, so my earlier admonition stands: Do not use our spoons to scoop dead bugs.”

“He might not be dead.” She peers through the plastic. “He’s either dead and one of his legs got caught in the lid when I snapped it shut, or he’s dangling full of menace waiting for me to open the container so he can fling-pounce himself at me.”

I lean forward to look. “That’s a spider. I thought you weren’t supposed to be collecting spiders.” Kallan has spent the last several weeks collecting and freezing insects for her Biology class. Six-legged insects … not spiders.

Kallan nods. “I know, but this spider was all huge and round and pulsing and so I scooped him up so I could examine him dead. I froze him for a little while, but now he’s been at room temperature for a few days, all sealed up.”

“Ewww … he’s big enough to stink, so you know. When you open that container, he’s going to stink.”

“You think?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe he’s not dead, though … maybe he’s doing the feigned-death menace-dangle thing.”

“If you froze him, he’s dead.”

She turns back to the silverware drawer. “So then all I need is a spoon.”

“Let me say this again — Do not use our silverware on bugs, dead or alive.”

“No way you know that’s what I have planned.”

“So why do you need a spoon?”

She glances up at me as though I am an idiot. “To scoop the dead spider. Duh.”

“UGH.”

She slams the silverware drawer shut. “Other families have regular small spoons. Why are our dogs so stupid?”

“We have tablespoons,” I offer before I stop myself and say, “NO. I don’t want you to use any of our spoons … wait … what was that about the dogs?”

“We used to have spoons,” she explains, “but then the dogs chewed their rounded parts all ragged, and now we have zero spoons.” She glares down at the three dogs, who have gathered in case she is about to offer snacks from that small plastic container. “Stupid dogs.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

She flails her hands in frustration. “The spoons … they get all torn up when the dogs chew them, and then when we use the spoons, every bite delivers a little sharp bit of jagged threat to our mouths as we eat, and then eventually, when the spoons are too dangerous to use, you throw them away. No one else’s dogs eat their spoons, by the way. Our dogs are insane.”

“Huh. So what exactly do you imagine … that I feed the dogs soup and ice cream while you are at school? That I spend my days trying to train the silverware-gnashing dogs to sip politely from teaspoons?”

Kallan stares at me, puzzled.

I laugh. “The smaller spoons are the perfect curve and shape to fall into the garbage disposal in the kitchen sink. We’ve lost the smaller spoons one by one to the garbage disposal, which grinds their scooped-part ragged.”

Kallan is stunned. “The dogs haven’t been chewing the spoons?”

“No.”

She stares at me. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She leans against the counter, taking in this new version of events. “I feel like my whole life has been a lie.”

“Now about that spider.”

Kallan sighs. “I just wanted to use the spoon to get his leg out of the top’s seal when I open the container.”

“No.”

“Fine.” She lifts the small container into the space between us and gives it a hard shake. “I’ll just shake him fr …” Her words are interrupted by the fierce popping sound of a small detonation, and we stare at the container as spider remnants drip down its interior walls. Kallan is horrified and giddy all at once, and she whispers, “He exploded!”

I take a step backward. “That is possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever seen.”

Kallan looks at me, her eyes huge, and she holds the spider-goo up so I can watch as liquidized arachnid putrefaction paints its container with death.

She speaks authoritatively, “OK, so I’m definitely going to need a spoon.”