Little Miss Muffet Sat On A Latrine

Little Miss Muffet Sat on a Latrine: My IEW American Literature essay assignment modeled and prompted on Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography

Dear Reader: I imagine that it would pleasing to you to know of an entertaining “transforming” moment of my life. So here I am to tell you of such. I suppose I shall tell a not-so personal story to keep the air light, because if one was to ponder on it, a more light-hearted story is more enjoyable to read to the average person than a potentially dark, deep story, and if a substantial goal of writing is not for the average person to desire to read the work, then what is?
To give you context for the story to understand it better, I shall start with that, according to a National Geographic internet article I once read, the fear of spiders [and snakes] is an automatic fear; it’s a fear we’re born with. However, some people I know are not afraid of spiders [or snakes], so mayhap that Sarah Gibbens (who wrote the article of which I just referenced) is incorrect in her words, or in her article altogether, and humans are not innately afraid of spiders [and snakes], or mayhap she is correct, and we can just “grow out” of this fear. Either assumption of which is made, one can absolutely not argue upon the basis and the ideas of my fear of spiders, as it is greater than most, though to lightly be stated, this fear is more of a phobia. Although, I suspect my phobia to be born to me, as I have not remembered a time in my life of which I have not been fearful of spiders, even as a babe I was afraid of spiders, as told to me by mine relatives. To build upon this likely-fact, I add that it is not plausible that my many horrendous experiences with spiders has influenced me well on the principles of my fear, even considering the hope braced acts of mine family and relatives to sear the phobia of spiders from me.
Now, I suppose your eyes are growing tired of mind-staling work point context, so I will continue onto the “transforming moment” I speak of. I was a child, 6-8 and not any younger, nor any older, and 6-8 years ago as of the day I write this, and, to the mind of a meek child, had had a pleasing morning and afternoon, as I recall the time being evening, as the sky was a mere pink-blue-orange, and my mother standing at the kitchen stove, cooking our family’s dinner that we all waited impatiently to dine upon. I found myself participating in traditional childhood play-games abroad, such as, but were not limited to, touch-and-go [abbreviated to ‘tag’], hide-and-seek, catch the ball, and “make pretend”, and during these play-games we [my brother and I] collected sticks, damp and slimy from the wet, late summer weather, and put them to good use as magical wands, dragon slaying swords, and evil destroying guns. One could argue that I was of an age that I should not have been playing such games, but I would retort a quote, one of Nina Dobrev’s-
“Even though you’re growing up, you should never stop having fun.”
So take that, losers. Focusing back on the point, as the evening drew to a close, the skies grew darker, and the cold ensued goosebumps upon my arms, I decided it best that I venture back inside, as not to catch a cold or step in/onto that needed not to be stepped in/on, and also to prevent the general anxieties of the dark. My brother decided for himself that he would stay outdoors and play with the dog until dinner was ready, of which I suspect he chose out of spite because of my telling him to follow me inside, which he often does. Through the dewed grass I trudged, picking apart our dinner through the scents that flew outside, and concluding that my father would indeed be disappointed he missed such a meal, as he was at work, of which job I am not sure, because he was employed at two services at the time- firefighting and paramedic work- and also because a kid doesn’t occupy their memory spaces with such information. I feel obliged to inform you that when it rained, or the when after a rain, we stripped ourselves of our soggy socks and shoes, as the wet weather manifested itself through our clothes. This I did, and I stepped inside, leaving my shoes and socks abroad next to the door I had just passed through, and proceeded to walk to the bathroom, because according to a childhood code of mine it was necessary that one used the latrine before and after mealtime. I sat myself upon the fixture and happily picked up a shampoo bottle to read, a favorite time-passer of mine, although this was soon replaced by what one would recognize as a smartphone.
However, when the time I had spent in the bathroom was crawling to a worrying total amount for a mother, something tickled my thigh, and I looked down, because I was not one to let something potentially dangerous touch me without me knowing what it was, even if ignorance is bliss. What I saw sent me flying out of the bathroom and ensued me bawling- a spider. The rest of the story is quite humiliating, and, if you are with decency and pardon me a human teenager, you will excuse me with sincerity when I write that I do not wish to share the rest, if you are not, then you may leave, you inconsiderate beast. And I also really don’t want to have to write all of that out, especially after I’ve already surpassed the 750 words guideline 236 words ago as of this. Aside from that, I believed then and now that I learned an important lesson, one that bettered me, shaped me, one that forever changed me- that you should always check around the toilet for spiders before you sit down, no matter where, when, or why, you just do it.