I’m not the kind of girl that goes squealing for her man to kill a spider. Well, at least most days. Two days ago as I was busy getting ready for a long day when I noticed a spider tucked in the corner in the far reaches of my bathroom. Normally I would just climb up and take care of business, but I was in a hurry. I told the spider that I was giving him a reprieve—that this was his shot at freedom, and that I hoped not to see him again. Since these days it takes perhaps 1.4 seconds for me to forget something, I barely exited the bathroom before forgetting about my multi-legged visitor.
Flash forward to the next morning. While in the shower singing away–no funny microphones anymore–out of the corner of my eye I see three hairy, scary, spindly legs peeking out from the corner of my shower behind the spring rod that holds my shelves. I looked behind the rod to see into the very corner, and…holy cry. It was this huge spider with a body shape I couldn’t really make out due to the crazy legs akimbo. I gasped in sheer horror and instantaneously regretted my earlier Ms. Nice Girl approach to this damned arachnid. I mean, it was seriously ginormous. And angry looking. Not the least big appreciative of my earlier generosity. In my vulnerable state of nudity I weighed the option of just taking my handheld shower head and trying to nail the bastard. But the overly responsible side of me said, no…that I would get the wall much too wet doing so (yes, I KNOW I was in a SHOWER. Cut me some slack. I was dealing with a steroidal tarantula). Instead, I decided to keep an eye on the fiend and make sure to get him once I was in a better, dryer position to smash the crap out of him.
What followed probably should have been filmed—with generous black bars covering any sensitivities, of course. But it had to have been ridiculous to see. I would bend down to shave my legs and then do this wild convulsive move over my shoulder to keep an eye on Grizzly Adams. After one and a half legs’ worth of this kind of spasming, I did my ultra-cool move only to see…that…he…was…gone. Gone. The colorful expletives that came out of my mouth impressed even me. How could a mere second allow this demon to disappear? I looked all over…every shelf, all around the rod. He was nowhere to be found. At that point, screw wet walls—I sprayed my showerhead in that corner like an AK-47…and….nothing. No. Thing. More expletives. The fact that a large spider can reduce a grown woman into such psycho jello is amazing. And then…after several seconds—pretty nearly an eternity’s worth—the damn spider dropped onto the tub floor. Oh, I’d like to share that I collected myself and casually sprayed the mother down the drain, but I’d be being much too kind to myself. No, instead I will admit that Barney Fife was channeled through me on my final move of this incident. But he did go down the drain. And then, just to make sure, I kept spraying and spraying down the drain…wouldn’t want him clawing his way back up, right?
Of course, visions of the Demon Spider doing just that continue to haunt me. Could he still come back up? Did he have some sort of aquatic ability? Could he be so pissed that he is making it his life’s mission to come back and finish what he started? I don’t know. But let me guarantee one thing: there will be no more spider reprieves issued from this girl. Oh, no. Once was enough.