BigB knocked the spider out of its web with the broom. It landed on the side of the house. He tried to kill it, but it was too quick for him. As it scurried away across the bricks it suddenly stopped, turned all of its beady little eyes on me, and said, “I hold you responsible!”, pointing at me for emphasis with one hairy leg. He had an accent. Maybe it was Sicilian, maybe it was Russian, possibly Transylvanian. I may not be good at accents, but I know pissed when I see it.
What did I do? I didn’t knock it out of its web on an otherwise peaceful Sunday. I didn’t grow to be an abnormally large spider in a region where smallish spiders reign. And God knows, I didn’t choose the corner of our portico to build my web mansion. I didn’t do anything, in fact, except be born with a phobia of spiders, leading BigB to jump to my defense when I walked out of my house a couple weeks ago and spotted a huge one lounging nonchalantly in a menacing way in the middle of its web, attached on three sides to my property. What was I supposed to do, invite it in for tea? I’m not the brightest bulb, but I’m not as stupid as the fly from the storybook, either. I did what any self-respecting, upright phobic Chicken would do. I backed away slowly and yelled to BigB that there was a monstrous possibly rabid spider trespassing on our property.
And now a vengeful homeless spider is stalking me.
Every time I leave the house I check the corner where it first appeared. Then I check the side of the house, the ground around the entry way, all of the other corners of the portico, and then if it’s clear, I’ll exit. If it is dark out, I’ll wear something on my head and wave my hands in front of my face. I don’t care how fearless you are, no one wants to run into a spider web in the dark. In the car, I check the floor and the back seats. I can just imagine it sneaking up on my shoulder as I maneuver into the high speed lane, whispering, “Guess who?”. Our bedroom window is open at night to take advantage of the cool fall breeze. Sure it’s screened, but I just know it’s going to find a way in and crawl under my covers in the darkest hour of the night. I’ll wake up wrapped like a fly while an army of spiders sucks me dry. Or will it get me in the shower? LIke that bat that time? Maybe it’ll drop suddenly in front of my face from the kitchen ceiling as I cut vegetables with a large kitchen knife, causing me to stab myself to death. That would probably make it feel pretty good.
I haven’t slept in two weeks. I know what all you spider lovers are saying. “Spiders are good, they keep down the insect population, blah di blah di blah. Well, so does fly paper, which might be gross, but doesn’t crawl into your ear while you are sleeping. And you southerners, I can hear you….”Well, in Texas we got spiders big as your face.” Yes, you do, which is one of the reasons I don’t live in Texas, or Louisiana or Oklahoma or Florida. You think I don’t like sultry weather and the scent of begonias and jasmine? I do. It’s spiders I hate. So I live here in the mostly inclement northeast where big spiders AREN’T SUPPOSED TO LIVE. Now I have to deal with snow, ice AND aggressively large spiders? It hardly seems fair.
I blame climate change. And BigB. The next time a spider needs killing around here, I’ll be ready with my chainsaw.