The Heebie Jeebies

I don't do spiders. They have too many legs, too many eyes, and they move too fast. My husband and I have a deal which, to be quite honest, I have the better end of. He takes care of any spiders I find, and I will dispose of any snakes that happen to sneak up on us. To date, he's come to my rescue at a ratio of about a billion to zero. (Please wait while I go knock on some wood.)

However, when my handsome, strong, manly husband is not home, I have to deal with the spiders myself. And no, I will not just leave them be, because they will disappear and then resurface at night in my bed. I'm convinced of this.

My main method of spider removal is the hose attachment on our vacuum cleaner. It allows me a comfortable distance between the vile thing and myself, and is an easy disposal method. However, I am under the impression that if the spider is big enough (and wolf spiders easily can be) then it will be able to spread its legs and cling to the edges of the hose cartoon cat-style and refuse to be sucked up. I have yet to see this happen, but I'm sure it has/will.

Because of this belief, when I found a spider at 10 PM one night blocking my way into the kitchen, I knew drastic measures would be needed. This thing was, I kid you not, as big as two quarters (legs included, of course, as those are the creepiest part). It tried to hide behind our kitchen table and I could see it sticking out of either side of the table leg. Unacceptable.

I did what any sane person would do: I climbed onto a chair, over the counter, and around the kitchen through other rooms until I could approach it from the rear. Then I called my dad. Who, unbelievably, said he would not come over and get it for me. Instead, he suggested I stop acting like a baby. When it was clear that wasn't going to happen, he told me to get a towel and throw it over the spider, then wait for Keith to get home the next morning.

That was a great idea, but it needed improvement. I got a towel, folded it up, and dropped it on the offending spider. Then, convinced this one was big enough to wriggle its way out, I dropped a textbook on the towel. Not wanting to have made a mistake and missed it, I then proceeded to clamp down each corner with a chair. Satisfied, I went back upstairs.

And I swear to you, something went bump in the night. (It may have been my dog, but that can't be proven, so I'll just assume the worst.) That spider, or at the very least its mate, was coming to get me and seek revenge. Because spiders are vengeful creatures, and would normally stalk up the stairs and into my room in the middle of the night, right?

The happy ending to that story is that no spider attacked me and Keith had a fun story (and a bit of a mess) to come home to.

Now, the reason I was inspired to write this post: today when I walked into the bathroom and found a wolf spider in the tub (shudder), I did what any normal person would do. I turned the water on and made sure it drowned. After about 30 seconds it was curled up and wedged in front of the drain (because it was too big to go down the freakin' drain) and so I walked away, presumably to find something to pick it up with so it could be thrown away.

And then, to my horror, I walk back into the bathroom and the same spider has uncurled itself and is walking around the tub like nothing happened. What the hell? Do spiders have gills that I was unaware of? Well, you can bet this time I wasn't going to let it get away. I turned that faucet on and let it run. And run. And run. And eventually, the spider disappeared down the drain (perhaps the water upped its force due to my increased panic?). It has not resurfaced. I checked. Twice.

I don't think there's a moral to this post. Just the fact that spiders give me the heebie jeebies.