ArachnoNONONONOphobia

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So last night as The Lovely Rhonda and I prepared to retire, I noticed something huddled in the corner of the baseboard.

I had already removed my glasses, so at first glance I took it to be the new cat, Mrs. Norris, who is smallish and striped and totes adorbs. 

But no, then I decided it looked just slightly smaller than Mrs. Norris, so I loomed a bit closer and squinted at it in the dim light and determined that it also had several more legs than I recall cats having, in general.  Also it was not stripey.

Based on this and the arrogant way it was ignoring me, there was only one conclusion I could come to which was that it was a really enormous spider.

I commented on this to TLR and she of course was indifferent to my plight.

“So get rid of it,” she said.  As if it were that easy.

“Why do I always have to get rid of the spiders?  Why don’t you ever do it?”

“BECAUSE I AM TERRIFIED OF BUGS AND JUST GET IT OUT OF HERE OMG.”  Then she hid under the covers and kicked her little legs.

I was very reluctant to address this particular spider because if its sheer magnitude.  I mean, normally you just get a tissue and bunch it up a little in your fingertips and sort of squoosh the spider in it and the spider is so tiny you don’t even feel it in the tissue at all.  Better yet you can often just get a magazine or something and scoop the spider up and take it outside where it can fulfill its many-legged destiny of menacing your neighbors instead of you.

But this monster?  Ugh.  What I was afraid of was that it was so large and meaty-looking that I would not only feel its weight in the kleenex but that I would sense also the squishing and the ichor spewing out of it and all that.  Taking it outside wasn’t an option because what if it was a spider accustomed to the comforts of indoor living?  What if it came after me?  I couldn’t risk that.  I have a family.  I have obligations.

I complained about this at length but to no avail.  Finally I went to arm myself against the thing.
I chose three 2-ply paper towels and folded them over several times.   Paper towels are thicker than kleenex and the ones we are using at the moment have a comforting print of pots of soup and flowers and curlicues and flourishes.   Every little bit helps here, folks.

I rushed at it and shoved the paper towels onto it, pinching them together quickly so as to get this thing done before the heebie-jeebies set in.  I then raced through the house bearing the spider-containment unit at arms length before me.  Once it was safely in the kitchen trash I returned to the bedroom to perform an involuntary shuddering seizure of disgust.  TLR found this amusing.

I sure hope she doesn’t lay awake nights wondering if that spider was really dead or not.

It could be dragging itself with its one remaining good leg back to the bedroom, bent on revenge.

She sleeps on the side closest to the door, and I doubt that big hairy bastard really got a good look at me to begin with.

No sir, sure hope she isn’t consumed with worry about things like this.

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3 responses »

  1. “spider-containment unit” Oh, yes, been there, done that, except with thousand leggers. I feel extraordinarily lucky that the spider I encountered this morning was on its way down to my sink drain anyway and all I had to do was send a Niagara of water down on its meaty head. Then turn on the garbage disposal, of course. And you know the disposal did its job, but that didn’t keep me from running it for like a minute. Just. To. Be. Sure. You are braver than I. Me no likey touching those things, even with folded up pretty paper towels. No siree.

  2. Ugh, just had to check under my desk to make sure nothing multi-legged was about to tickle my knee.

    Back in the day, when they were larger and all-newsprint, rolled-up copies of Rolling Stone Magazine made awesome anti-arachnid weapons. I discovered this one night when a huge beastie dropped right onto my FACE in the dark. I leaped up and switched on the light to find an Evil One legging it through the peaks and valleys of the shag carpeting. Grabbed a copy of RS with Rickie Lee Jones on the cover, rolled it up, and beat the thing to death. I had to pick its remains out of the shag (ugh) but Rickie Lee was way more talented at killing spiders than at singing. After that I always kept a copy of RS by the bedside (with Keith Richards on the cover for added potency).

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