This morning I had to climb under my truck because we spend more time under it, than in it and that’s a lot considering we are traveling across country. After banging around with a hammer for a while, I crawled back out, reached up to fluff my hair hoping I was one of ‘those chicks’ and it would do some good, to find I’d been attacked.

In Utah, as in Texas, Arizona, California and every other state we’ve traveled through this winter, we’ve discovered why they groom their trails, pave their roads, and stay inside a lot. Every attempt to be outdoorsy leads to this:

Shoe Attack

This would never happen in Alaska. I may risk being feasted on by bears, but at least I can take a jaunt through the woods without becoming human Velcro.

SO when I crawled from under my truck this morning, late for an appointment already, the back of my head looked a bit like my feet in the above picture only the prickly pests were smaller, disguised as grass, and matted deep within my abundance of freshly scrunched curls.

So I run to the bathroom, strip down, lay my glasses aside because I’ve been too lazy to open my phone app that orders new contacts, and jump in the shower.

Let’s step back a bit to the missing contacts. Without them, I’m darn near legally blind.  Picture an old Eddie Murphy/Stevie Wonder skit, and this is me without my contacts.

So I get in the shower, lather up my hair with what I can only assume is shampoo, and begin the meticulous task of disengaging the tiny claws from my scalp. When out of the corner of my eye, I see a blurry blog moving across the ceiling of the shower.

I squint, stand on my tip toes, and determine the fuzzy blur is a spider. Eek!  I plaster myself to the opposite shower wall, twist the shower head upwards as far as possible, cup my hands and try the “splash down” method, prepared to climb the wall if he floated towards my feet.

He was on to me and scurried away from my pointless splatter of water.  Mission foiled.

My only option at this point was to shower as quickly as possible, keeping one useless eye on the blur as he crept slowly, purposefully, in my direction. But then I remembered my legs were like steel wool and needed a good shave, as I’d spent the night with my fuzzy blanket clung to me much like the infestation of spurs in my hair.

Oh yes, my hair.

As fast as I could I scrubbed and untangled the mass, plucking those scratchy matts from my hair one at a time and washing half the Utah dessert down the drain.  Meanwhile, the demon on the shower ceiling was getting closer and closer to being straight above. Regardless of where I moved, he followed. Stalking, creeping, plotting my demise.

Hair good enough, Check.

But the legs still needed gone over with a razor. Problem number one, I had no new blades so the existing, half rusted, dull blade would have to suffice. Problem number two, similar to shaving my legs in the Alaskan lake at summer camp as a teen…Goosebumps which weren’t going anywhere  until that spider was a distant memory.

Desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures.  One eye still on the blur of a spider, I grabbed the dull razor, scratched it over lumpy, bumpy, hairy legs as best I could, held back the ‘yowza’ from the burning pain of shaving half the goosbumps off, and tossed the razor back to the tiny shelf before the spider plunged into attack mode just over my head.

I spent a terrifying thirty seconds struggling with sketchy shower doors, hopped out of the shower, dripping, no towel in site…or at least my limited vision…and breathed for the first time in six minutes.

Still soapy, scraped, tangled and terrified, I started my day. The good thing about days like this is, it’s GOT to get better. Right?