It’s not that I’m afraid of spiders. I’m really not. As long as I can see and squish them.
Last night before getting into bed, Joe and I were changing the sheets. I was trying to get my pillow into a pillowcase by stuffing it in then hurling it over my head and down onto the ground again and again. I was having a hard time because putting my pillow into a pillowcase is like fitting ten pounds of flour into a five-pound bag…but WORTH IT.
Mid hurl, I noticed up on the ceiling a gigantic black spider. Big enough to have a driver’s license. Big enough to qualify for a zip code. More importantly, big enough that if that sucker landed on my side of the bed while I slept, I would have felt the mattress move. And don’t even get me started on the fangs.
Well, obviously this wouldn’t do. I would have to kill it. Meaning I’d have to have Joe kill it, once I got my stupid pillowcase on.
A couple more overhead hurls with the pillowcase and I looked back up to find that the spider was gone.
I think the puffs of air from the vigorous pillowcase action had blown him down, because he was not skittering down the wall, not moved over on the ceiling a little bit, but gone as in could be anywhere, could be under the bed, could be hiding on my side of the mattress. Obviously we’d have to get the flamethrower out.
Joe indicated he’d rather hold off on the flamethrower and instead got down on all fours to look under the bed with a flashlight. There were lots of things under the bed. A slipper I thought I’d lost. About fifteen purple earplugs that had gone missing. An earring. And about two hundred pounds of dog hair…
But no spider.
“I’ll go get the flamethrower now,” I told Joe.
“Why don’t you just get the other flashlight and help me look,” he responded patiently.
“I’m not sleeping in this room unless we find the spider,” I said, as I peered under the bed with my light. “If you want to be gobbled up in the middle of the night, that’s your business. But I won’t be in here to save you.”
It’s then I see it cavorting under the bed. It’s the size of a ping-pong ball and hairy, and it’s in a hurry because it knows when there’s a flashlight shining his way, the sole of a shoe is about to follow. The drawback is that to pull him out and squish him, I have to lure him closer to me. Closer is not a word I like to associate with spiders.
I take the aforementioned slipper and a deep breath, then scoot Gigantor out into the open, where I use Joe’s good dress shoe to pound him into oblivion.
At least I’ll be able to sleep tonight, though, as long as there isn’t any spider family who’s going to come looking for retribution.