It was a dull weekend like any other. A Saturday, in fact. It occupied the twilight zone bridging the fun of Friday and the homework of Sunday. The day itself, however, was redeemed somewhat by the absence of my family at the time. This resulted in a rare sense of pristine balance. The house was quiet, the stillness lying like the crisp, clean sheets of a hotel bed.

Perhaps it was the maddening dreariness of Saturday, or maybe I couldn't help but break the silence, but it became clear that I had to do something. I decided, on a whim, to make a daring excursion from my room to the wonders of "downstairs."

Motivated by the thought of the ice cream waiting at the end of my quest, I opened my door and moved quickly down the hall. Arriving at the stairs, I took a couple steps down. This was a journey, you understand, that I had made countless times before, and barring the clumsiest of falls, each previous travel had proven to be uneventful. Under such conditions, it was only natural for me to assume that this would be the same.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Only a couple steps from the top, I found that to my left was a frightful monster. It stuck to the wall, that abominable beast, as if it were minding its own business. I knew better. I knew that this fiend of depravity sought only the abandonment of my quest. I knew, as sure as I knew that day followed night and night followed day, that this hellion of nefariousness was giving me a challenge. I could see it in the multi-faceted compound eyes. I could read it in the pincered face. I could fathom it from the position of those eight, hairy legs.

It was, obviously, a spider. Make no mistake, I am not a fearful person, nor do I suffer from arachnophobia. When such vermin are normally encountered in my home, I am at the head of the eradicating force (and its sole member). Having spent time in India as a child, I knew the only way to deal with pestilence was to show no mercy. Why all the drama then, you ask? I'll tell you why:


This was no ordinary spider, my friends! It was a gargantuan arachnid capable of giving most cockroaches a run for their money. This fellow was a giant among his peers. He may have been no tarantula, but his size was no laughing matter. It would take more than a single square of toilet paper to deal with this bad boy.

I considered my options. Ordinarily, I would choose one of the sharper swords in my collection, generally one fashioned as a letter opener. In the past, I had found that these served as excellent weapons for the extermination of Insecta. The sharp points were great for swift, precise lunges, while the blade offered ample area for swatting. Despite the optimal construction of these swords, however, I found myself prohibited from their use. Given the enormous size of my foe, I had to consider the amount of blood contained in it. Stabbing or even swatting would surely result in a frightful stain on the wall. Cleaning it would be inconvenient, and hiding it was surely out of the question. This was no ordinary enemy, and thus I was forced to consider alternative tactics.

Demoralized, I returned to my room-turned-armory and retrieved my chosen weapon of destruction. It existed in excess, and while it may not have been designed for specifically lethal purposes, I could not help but wonder the outcome. I faced my adversary once more, armed and dangerous. Taking cautious few steps towards it, I aimed carefully....

And gave it one small spray of cologne.

I could never have predicted the outcome. The seemingly harmful, even advertised as seductive whiff of aroma had disposed of this seemingly invincible enemy. The beast fell from its high position on the wall, some two feet two to the step below. There it lay, motionless, its previously intimidating legs curling pathetically into the air. What had once been used to attract had made short work of this pest. I laughed mercilessly at my feeble adversary and returned the cologne to its place beside my sword collection. It was now a position gained by ruthless conquest. A position that was rightly earned.

Some would refuse to wear such a cologne ever again. But not I. No, I resolve to wear it, albeit sparingly. However, wear it I must. For if it kills me, I will know... I will know that I have become everything I have sought to destroy. I will know that I have truly become the beast. I will know that it was my time to die.

Yeah, forget that. I'm not wearing it ever again.

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