Je suis un arachnophobe

Let me tell you about the time a spider brought me down.

Monsieur Stoic was on one of his baseball trips with his not-that-identical-anymore twin, which left me alone with the Terror Tag Team. Future Cult Leader was at school (yay, kindergarten!) so it was just Evil Genius and me. She was playing on the floor while I fed my addiction and attempted to read something with a higher reading level than Highlights Magazine. I saw something roll slowly across the (light colored) carpet out of the corner of my eye and looked up, expecting to see Evil Genius’s toy. Nope. It was a big fucking spider.

A BIG FUCKING SPIDER.


A REALLY BIG FUCKING SPIDER.

I had no time to think. This bastard was big enough to kill my 15 month old AND me and STILL go on a murderous spree. I grabbed a stool (which has a hollow bottom, by the way) and threw it over the spider. Then I grabbed Evil Genius and stood on the stool, because I wouldn’t put it past him to lift up that chair and come after us both. I sat there for a moment, wondering what my next move was. I wasn’t killing this spider, Basement Dweller (who was Upstairs Guest Room Dweller at the time) wouldn’t be home until MUCH later, and I was fairly sure that Cult Leader would take one look at the arachnid, look at me solemnly, tell me I had to be joking, and could she get her snack now?

My gaze fell on my phone.

My mother is a bad ass mofo when it comes to spiders. Does it have 8 legs? She’ll kill it then go smoke a cigarette. It ain’t no thing to her. So I did what any other rational human being would do.

I called my mommy to come save me.

She laughed when I told her of the pickle I was in, but agreed to come over right away. Ahhhh, but the door was locked. The door was ALWAYS locked, because at the time we lived in Suburban Hell where all the houses looked the same and all the women drove SUVs whether they needed to or not, and Stoic was paranoid that someone, out of ALL THE HOUSES ON THE BLOCK, would choose ours to break into. You know, because a dead bolt is going to stop them.

Solution? Grab one of Evil Genius’s heavier toys, stick it on top of the stool, run to unlock the door, then get back on the stool and wait.

Ten minutes later, my mother came sauntering in. She laughed at me, guys. SHE LAUGHED AT ME. This spider was big enough for the Smithsonian, how could she be laughing?

But she humored me. She took over stool duty while I grabbed the baby and ran upstairs to hide. She dutifully caught the spider and threw it outside so there were no yucky spider guts to clean up. She returned inside, and then this happened:

“I thought you said it was a big spider.”

“It was. Big fucker. Why?”

“Uh, because it was barely the size of a dime, you knucklehead.”

“Not a chance in hell. At least the size of a quarter.”

“I just caught it, I know how big it was.”

“IT WAS GINORMOUS AND IT WAS GOING TO KILL US BOTH.”

She managed to suppress a laugh, but smiled and nodded. Then she grabbed a cup of coffee and went outside to smoke.

All in a day’s work.

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About That One Girl

I do a bang up job of pretending to be a stay at home wife and mother. I also pretend to be a writer with my blog A Center in the Insanity. (https://acenterintheinsanity.wordpress.com, go check it out!)

Posted on 2011/07/14, in Crazy and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. Okay, next time there’s a GIANT FREAKING SPIDER in my BATHTUB, can I call your mom too? Best I can do is sic Sabrina on them. She clearly doesn’t like the taste, and looks slightly more mournful every time I put her in front of one – but she LOVES the thrill of the hunt, and will eventually at least chew it up enough that it’s dead. And then I can wash it down the drain. And have heart attacks every time I shower for at least a week, waiting for it to come back to life, come up out of the drain as I’m showering (yes, with water running down there) and KILL ME WHILE I’M NAKED.

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