I don’t like spiders.
And now thanks to last week’s events, I know the feeling’s mutual.
My normal tactic whenever I see a spider of any size is to panic, scream for my husband then run away. Unfortunately, the spiders know this about me and decide to only appear when I am home alone with the kids.
So when my son announced there was a “huge bug” in the house, I thought, no problem, it’s probably a cute cricket and I’ll just shoo it out the door.
Only it wasn’t a cricket but the biggest, baddest, ugliest spider in history. A spider that had obviously been around the block a time or two.
As soon as he saw a dozen images of me coming toward him with my husband’s size 13 Shaquille O’Neal sneaker, he made a break for it, galloping down the hall on his creepy-deepy legs toward the safety of the radiator vent on the floor.
Ignoring all better judgment, I chased after him, wildly slamming the clown-sized sneaker around and managing to hit everything in the hallway BUT the spider. Naturally, I also made sure to yell, “GAH! GAH! GAH!” at the top of my lungs to aid in my murderous rampage.
I have it on good authority that in spiderese GAH loosely translates to: Prepare to die, asshole.
Yeah, I was giving him a warning. Because I’m a good person.
I cornered him into the crack between the wall and the floor and proceeded to deliver about a million sharp blows to his body, squishing him into a crumpled brown ball. With every hit I let out a blood-curdling yell of “DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!” because that’s the only way I can make sure the spider is really dead. The louder I say it, the more it makes it true.
The spider stopped moving. He was dead. Most definitely.
I crouched down and peered at the big brown ball of twisted spider guts. Oh yeah, he’s gone.
Still I wasn’t convinced. I stared at the spider for a good five minutes. Waiting. You can never be too careful. Those suckers are wily.
That’s when I saw him move. Ever so slightly one of his legs twitched. Can spiders experience post-death/rigor mortis/ghost-twitching?
But he’s dead!
Just the thought of this spider possibly coming back to life then exacting his/her/its revenge on me in the middle of the night by crawling into my ear and depositing a million baby eggs caused me to wait it out even more.
I held my breath, cringed and gingerly nudged him with the toe of Shaq’s sneaker to see if it would move.
Oh he’s good. He’s DAMN good.
“Mom, I think you killed him,” my son offered.
“That’s what he wants me to think.”
A few more minutes ticked by. Not wanting to tip my hand, I nodded at the spider and slowly backed away down the hall, disappearing around the corner.
Then I whipped my head back around to see if he was still there.
Yet my spidey sense was still tingling. Yes, he was there — but was he in the same spot?
Something is up, I thought. I could have sworn he was further down the hall…
Then another thought dawned on me:
Holy crap. I am bat-shit insane. Of COURSE he’s dead! What kind of spider could sit there, completely still for several minutes, not moving one tiny spider muscle–they have muscles, right? I mean, if he wasn’t really dead, that would be completely bonkers! That would mean he had the gumption to realize playing dead would save him. That would mean the spider was thinking! And planning! And being all clever and shit! And that would just be nuts! And he’s looking at me right now! He’s watching me with all ten of his eyes! He knows I know! He’s waiting for me to leave! Or pounce on me! Yes! He’s going to launch himself up off the floor, glom right onto my face, sink his fangs into my nose and shoot a steady stream of spider-babies down my throat! I’m sorry I killed you, Mr. Spider! I am! I didn’t mean it! Please, don’t be mad! Okay, Darla, just calm down! Drop the sneaker, go get the vac and suck the bastard up. Then you’ll know he’s gone! …or he’ll live a long (albeit bitter) life within the confines of my dusty vacuum bag where he could bide his time creating a tiny voodoo doll of me and plotting my slow and painful death….
Yeah, I’ll get the vac. Good plan.
I flew upstairs, grabbed the vacuum and ran back downstairs with the attachment hose in hand when I heard my son yell from the hallway,
“The spider’s gone!”
That son of a bitch.