When I was ten my dad took me and my sister (who was 6) to see Arachnophobia at the Post theater. In his defense, taking a 10 and 6 year old to see a PG-13 movie about killer spiders, was probably not his idea. Pretty sure that I had been begging him to go see it. I'm nothing if not persistent. :) Me and the persistent widow, cut from the same cloth. "I won't be too scared dad. Spiders don't scare me. PLLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSEEEEEEE!"
Needless to say. I think we lasted about 10 minutes before I was screaming and begging to leave. My six year old sister sat there unfazed (similar to the time a year before when we had to be evacuated from a hotel due to a bomb scare, that she slept right though. I, on the other hand, cried through the rest of the night.)
So we left. My dad still teases me about that day. And I still hate spiders. My seething hate of them has made me a master spider killer.
Yesterday I decided it was finally time to mow the lawn. Another thing I hate, mowing the lawn. I've done it since I was ten (hmmm. ten was apparently a pivotal year in developing a hatred of things). And I just don't like doing it, probably solely on principal of wanting a guy to do yard work, and the fact that I've done it for 18 years. Future husband-let it be known, you will probably be the one mowing the lawn.
The lawn mower is in the basement/garage. Which I found out yesterday, when I went down there, has become a vacation spot for spiders of all kinds. I screamed no less than 5 times as I walked through web after web trying to get to the mower. I make a mental note to call our landlord and have someone come out and exterminate the varmints.
I suck it up. Brave the webs. Hold my breath as the demon cricket spiders jump all around my feet and get the mower out. I mow the lawn (It really wasn't that bad. I still don't love it) and put the mower back up. I run the gauntlet of webs and demon crickets and spiders vacationing and make it back upstairs without screaming. I only thought I was done dealing with spiders for the day.
As I'm crawling into bed around midnight, I look over at my wall and there is a HUGE spider just hanging out. I fly out of bed and grab the nearest thingtokillaspiderwith, a folder I had next to my bed. I was pretty thankful at this point that I hadn't cleaned my room super well, as the spider was blocking the path to my shoes. I grab the folder and try to hit the spider, keeping my cool.
Then scream. Loud.
You NEVER want to miss a spider on your first try. Your chances of killing it after that decrease exponentially.
He's startled and starts scurrying down the wall. Now, I'll be damned if I'm going to have a killer spider running around my room. My second attempt was successful, and he was soon flushed down the toilet (I take no chances). That's another thing said future husband will do-kill spiders.
This morning I was telling my cube mate about it, and he assured me it was a wolf spider Nope. Not him. It could have been one of these guys or maybe him? (shudder) Maybe it was just my own personal friendly Charlotte?
Regardless. Landlord has been called. Done and done.