An Ode To Boy

Perhaps it's about time I write an ode.
Everyone should write an ode.
Beethoven did.
Da Vinci did. Sorry, that's code...
Nevertheless, I shall write an ode.
It will have no stanzas, rhyme, melody or prose. In fact, count this as an ode. Today's blog:
An ode to my boy (friend...)
"Why?" I hear you ask. Why exactly.
Well, he did the most chivalrous, brave, demonstrative act yesterday.
Let me paint you a little picture. We had just arrived home after seeing Cowboys and Aliens, which, may I just say, oh wow!! Cowboys AND Aliens?!?! Yes. It was as amazing as you imagine. Plus Harrison Ford is in it.
Anyway, we arrived home to a warm, comfortable flat and began chuntering away to each other about the film's best bits, which, as expected, was pretty much ALL of it! When suddenly,
"S#@! B$%%$*^S F+*^ING T@!"
Yes.
That's right.
There was a huge, clog-wearing spider on my wall. Above my bed - naturally.
Now, by no means am I making a gender-related stereotype about women being frightened of spiders and always needing men to rescue them from the situation. However, in this case, I am bloody terrified of spiders. They make me want to vomit. My boyfriend does not feel the same way. Ergo, he can deal with them.
After my blaspheming, which the boy deemed slightly unnecessary, he agreed to dispose of the spider.
"KILL THE BASTARD!" I screamed.
But my boyfriend is one of those caring types. You know the ones; they make you feel guilty for squashing a mosquito with your own bear hands? Well, he's one of them.
However I can't complain, because I am alive to tell the tale.
After bravely mounting the bed (!) he cupped his hands over the spider (which did I mention was the size of my hand?) and promptly dropped the bugger.
On our bed.
What can only be described as pandemonium followed.
The spider sped around my bed at lightning speed while my boyfriend scrambled behind trying to catch it. This image may haunt me for days.
Luckily, and I really mean luckily, he was able to catch the spider and put it outside. I watched this part in particular. It's not that I didn't trust that my boyfriend had caught it. Of course not. How could you even say that? But there was no chance in hell of me getting back into that bed without visual evidence that the fucker was no longer in it (by 'fucker' I mean the spider, of course).
As I said, I do not need rescuing. Nobody needs rescuing from a spider (except for the poisonous tarantula ones... yes my toes just cramped and may never uncurl). If my boyfriend was not present I would have dealt with the spider with grace, poise and in a calm and efficient manner... a shoe is efficient, as is toilet roll and a flushable loo, as is Cif and a scourer. The only minuscule inefficient aspects would be the screaming, squealing, swearing, smacking and squashing. I also have a tendency to unleash the aerosol deodorant in times of panic, which can get costly. I'm not made of money.
Having read this back, I've realised that, horror of horrors - this is not an ode. How unexpected.
But I would like to dedicate this to the wonderful spider-relocater that is my boyfriend.
Thank you for getting rid of that spider. And I didn't mean it when I said,
"If you throw that bloody spider at me, we're through!!"
Well that's not entirely true, I didn't say it, I shouted it.
An Ode To Boy. An Ode To Joy. You can't have one without the other.
Watch this space...