I lay in a silken hammock. It nestled between coconut palms on a warm, tropical beach of a secluded desert island. I looked down and noticed I had slim hips and a pert bosom. My hair was long, thick and luxuriant with tresses stylistically falling down over my shoulders. I heard the gentle sound of waves breaking on a calm shore. Terns called overhead. My skin glowed with a healthy, even, all-over tan. I looked good and I felt good.

Next to me, sat Ricky Martin, who, between serenading me with Latin love songs, offered to gently caress my skin with soothing tropical tanning oils. On the other side was Robbie Williams, who also crooned sweet songs to me and fed me with chilled chocolate-dipped strawberries and let me sip from a fresh coconut filled with sweet cocktails and fruit juices.

All was well in the world. I was content to lie there, gaze upon my handsome attendants, close my eyes and let my mind drift in this idyll.

Then it happened. It rose out of the sand. Its eight hairy legs, each as big as a man. Its vast head with huge compound eyes. Its fangs, each a foot long, glinting in the tropical sun and dripping with venom. As the venom hit the sand, the sand sizzled as the venom dissolved it away. My god! Where did it come from? It came closer and I froze with fear. It lunged and sank its fangs into my left foot. I screamed in pain as I felt the hot venom enter my bloodstream and the fangs crush bone.

I woke up.

My left foot hung out of the bed - attached to it was Waffles. She was attacking the evil object sticking out of the bed, had all four legs wrapped around it, was gutting my ankle with her back claws and was sinking her fangs into the end of my big toe.

I was not amused. It was four in the morning and I was not amused at all.

Copyright © Helen Simmons
December 10, 2001