I am a gal who is afraid of many things, and not all of them are rational. My deepest fear of being attacked by leeches is, perhaps, a little farfetched considering I can’t recall a time I ever swam in murky water. My unrelenting belief that I will someday have my throat slit by a serial killer who is hiding in my closet (yes, my fears are that specific) sprung out of nowhere and has hung around for years now. And my terror at seeing a roach is nonsensical given that fact that, except for being gross, I’m not sure they can even harm you. Yes, I am startled easily by a great many things, but one fear I’ve never possessed is that of spiders.
This sudden onset on arachnophobia popped up last night when I was home alone (just like that time GAR was out of town and I was left to battle an army of thousands of flying ants all on my own) and I saw something moving across the living room floor. At first glance I thought it was a lizard, they do get into the house from time to time, simply due to the size of this monster. But soon I realized that it didn’t move like a lizard … didn’t have the body of a lizard … and, in fact, it had 8 hairy legs (though, to be fair, the front 2 were significantly more huge … and those bad boys were chomping like crab claws … so to call it merely a “spider” seems like a gross understatement of its abilities). No, until that moment a spider never phased me. But, then again, I had never seen one this large that wasn’t on display in an exhibit next to a sign that reads something along the lines of “World’s Biggest Giant Amazon Spider!!!” And this one was not only on the loose, it was running free in my home (darting beneath my couch to be specific).
I was pretty brave at first. I tried to kill it on my own. But it was too fast. Plus I think my panicked shrieking gave it a good indication that there wasn’t time to stick around and hang out. And the venomous villain ran off to parts unknown. When GAR finally got home (3 painful, me hiding in the “safe zone” spider-free bunker I constructed in my bedroom, hours later) the spider could not be located. Conveniently GAR was able to shirk his main manly fiancé bug-killing duty yet again. And yet, this isn’t over. I will not (and have not been able to) rest since I first witnessed the beast. I tossed and turned all night, and jerked awake with every tiny breeze of air that hit me. After another sleep-deprived search turned up nothing this morning, I managed to have a mini-breakdown when GAR suggested that, perhaps, Hank (that’s what we’ve named the spider) simply slipped back out of the house the same way he came in (this response not only struck me as a ludicrous attempt to pacify my fears, but also begged the question – if a spider the size of my head can get into the house in the first place, isn’t there some sort of security breach we should be solving here?)
While clearly the size of this spider is growing with each story I tell about him, I still don’t think that GAR is truly grasping what we’re dealing with here. This is a slightly skinnier cousin of the tarantula, who moves at super speeds, was able to get past the heavy duty pest control layer we put around the house a few weeks ago and who, in my mind anyway, can scale tall buildings in a single bound. Finally GAR did humor me by constructing a makeshift “safe distance spider catcher” (pictured here), but I’m sure a mutant beast such as Hank could easily get past such feeble traps (not to mention that GAR used the lid from my cake stand as the “trapping” device – ewww ... I’ll have to throw it away now).
No, GAR is not truly threatened by this 8-legged freak, but he also hasn’t yet seen what we’re dealing with here. Oh sure, he called me today in a panic about a road block he encountered on the way to the house because the cops all were sporting machine guns – “What if the person they’re looking for is in our house?” he cried. “I’m fine with him hiding out in our closet as long as he kills Hank while he’s here” was my reply. And I know that I’m not the only one who’s nervous – our smallest dog, Munchkin, has developed a bad case of trichotillomania. Yes, he’s started pulling out his own hair. His poor tail is practically bald. GAR has diagnosed him (see, this is the beauty of living with a counselor – he has “And how does this make you feel?” therapy sessions with the dogs) with OCD. See, the pup is anxious – and I know why. A giant spider is tormenting him.
It affects us all, and Hank must be killed. And, unlike Osama, I’m going to need to see the body to believe he’s really dead. Thank goodness I’m going to Vegas this weekend because I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this deathtrap of a vermin-infested home. But, until then, I’m making GAR check every chair before I sit down, inspect the shower before I step inside, shake out my clothes before I put them on and repeatedly bang on my shoes before I dare to put my precious little piggies inside. And I’ll just keep typing this with 5 shaky fingers while I sip a glass or Merlot with my other trembling hand … just until I make it to Vegas.
See you next week!