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By: Audrey Lintner

Having finished breakfast and washed his plate and fork because he’s that kind of an awesome guy, Larry decided that a shower was the next order of the day. He disappeared behind the bathroom door.

For about two seconds.

The door flew open, and Larry vaulted straight into the kitchen. His face was pale and his voice shook as he announced, “There’s a three-foot green tarantula in the bathroom sink!”

Since I’m the only member of the household that drinks coffee, I was alert enough to realize that we probably weren’t being overrun by mutant arachnids. With only minor trepidation, I peeked into the bathroom.

“That’s not a tarantula. It’s a geranium.”

In all fairness, Larry’s reaction wasn’t too far-fetched. Where most geraniums are well-behaved landscaping staples that sit quietly in terra cotta pots, ours, well … isn’t. It sprawls and reaches and looks like a tarantula.

It’s my fault.

I have this thing about pruning, see. I know it’s important for the health of the plant and the ocular safety of passers-by. Nobody likes an errant rosebush in the face. I just can’t get past the guilt; I feel like I’m snipping off tiny arms and legs when I prune plants and shrubs. And believe me, those little green branches act just like arms and legs. The geranium in question had a death-grip on the front room blinds when I tried to wrestle it loose to haul it to the sink for a drink.

It probably looked like a Punch and Judy show from the sidewalk.

I guess I’ll have to get past the guilt and do some pruning. The plants are taking over the house, and Larry would really like to take his shower.