The cable guy came to my house yesterday, requiring access to spaces that haven’t been touched by a human hand, not to mention a Swifter duster, since 1978.
All that activity disrupted the local spider population, which sent a spokesman to complain and demand compensation. Their eight-legged emissary was waiting for me in the shower this morning.
Some of you know I do not like spiders.
But I didn’t overreact because I’m trying to be more peaceful and loving towards all God’s creatures. I thought of starting up my chain saw, but I didn’t. I sat on the side of the tub, took a deep breath, counted to 10, and looked in the shower again.
It was still there. I sat back down.
I wondered whether I really needed a shower this morning. Maybe not, but eventually I would, and I’d be wondering where it had got off to, and, more importantly, where it might turn up while my eyes were closed and my hair full of shampoo.
Perhaps I could share the shower. That plan was quickly deposited in the crazy things Chicken would never do file.
Finally, it was decided, by all my traumatized selves and I, that the spider needed to be taken alive and relocated to a place that wasn’t my fucking house. I looked around for a clear container, considered filling it with whiskey, decided against it, and headed back to the bathroom, where I trapped the little bastard, humanely, shook it to the bottom of the glass, slapped a cover on top, and left it to ponder its fate while I scrubbed the creepy crawlies off my skin with $15 bar of Whole Foods soap sourced from Peruvian monks who probably have other people to save them from vicious shower spiders thanks to me and my spontaneous spending habits but that’s a whole other story.
Anyways. Eventually, dressed, clean and somewhat more composed, I transported the spider outside where I kicked off the cover with one foot, gave the glass a nudge and jumped back into my house. Bon Voyage, Spider, and don’t come back.
I feel good about myself for not killing that spider and flushing it down the toilet 53 times just to be safe. I did the right thing and I know it will come back to me someday; like, if I ever check into a room at the Bates Motel, for instance, or a hostel somewhere, or am forced to use the public restroom at a campground, I expect not to be stabbed to death, chain-sawed, or strangled and left as a fearsome reminder of what happens to pesky, unwanted visitors.
Chicken out
LOL I just love this post! Absolutely hilarious, and completely relatable in my case. 😉 Thanks for a great morning laugh. G-uno
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Hi G-uno, thanks so much. Aren’t you glad it wasn’t you? If the cable guy comes knocking on your door, do not let him in!
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Yes, or maybe always keep a glass jar with a lid handy in the shower. 😉
G-uno
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Yes, and maybe some whiskey, too.
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My granddaughter needs to become as pragmatic. She doesn’t quietly sit and contemplate her options, she screams and does the herky jerky.
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Hi Joanne, how old is your granddaughter? These things take time. There was a time in my life where such a sighting would have meant no showers for a month. The Herky Jerky is a totally age-appropriate response if she’s under 50. In chicken years.
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A REAL CHICKEN would have eaten said spider !! 😉
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Judith, I’m about as chicken but I’m not real, and even if I were, I STILL would not eat a spider. I might cross the road to get away from it, though. And then hope it would follow me and get run over by a bus.
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Thanks for the big laugh at the start of my day. I’ve probably got some negative karma happening, what with taking out–by my bare hands, no less–two mosquitoes (who obviously died “full”, so there’s that), one spider, one UFO-insect, and a housefly. In the past three days. By the end of summer, I figure I’ll be coming back in the next life as a gnat.
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Paulette, I understand the urge, believe me. My advice: Stay out of public restrooms and hostels for the time being and try to save an orphan and maybe adopt some cats, too, perhaps a lizard. The lizard might be willing to do your dirty work for you. Bonus! #winning
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And now they will all worship you as the merciful goddess you are. All hail the Mother of Spiders! (Personally, I would demand gifts and offerings of wine and chocolate, but you’ll probably just get dead flies. Because spiders.) – GG
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Hi GG, Yes, and that’s just another reason not to like them!
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Well, now I understand your comment on my post today! I do remember you really, really REALLY don’t like spiders, so I’m super impressed by your rescue operation. People can change, if that’s any help. I used to react to earwigs the way you do to spiders. The karma on that will probably outlive me. But then I read they eat harmful garden bugs, and somehow that made me look at them differently. Last night I rescued the first one of the summer. I can’t believe I just said that. Let us both think about strawberry shortcake now.
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ooooommmmmmmshortcakestrawberriesoooommmmmm We’re so f’ing peaceful and gracious and magnanimous and and strawberry loving
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At least it wasn’t a bat…
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Good point, Doug. Relatively speaking, the spider was a preferable showering companion, although had it been a 1/2 inch wider, I might have opted for the bat. How come I never wake up to find David Duchovny in my shower, or a nice cupcake or something?
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Still, I applaud your standing up to your spider fears. Briana hunts them with the vacuum cleaner, and I tease her by saying that she’s just concentrating them into one place, from whence they must surely be planning an attack…
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Oh, yeah, it’s like the White Walkers down in Briana’s vacuum. Like the trolls and the dragons and whoever the enemies of Vikings were. Probably other Vikings.
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The cat caught a spider last night. Not sure how to encourage this behavior in her, but I’m getting too slow for effective spider-murder these days. Briana actually killed one herself a couple of days ago… Now if I could just train the spiders to run the ants off, we could all live in peace… Except for the ants.
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Ants are resilient, Doug. They’ll be fine. When the cat helps a spider to it’s eternal reward, maybe you could reward her with some catnip or some albacore tuna or maybe a fine mik vintage.
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Drink the whiskey in addition to this next time.
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Now, you see, DBS? This is why I like you. You have common sense. Of course I should drink the whiskey. I am hoping there will not be a next time but if there is, first the Whisky, then the relocation attempt. Unless I can talk Doug into giving me his spider-hunting cat. Then I’ll just drink the Whisky and sic the cat.
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