Life in the Gravy
A wordslinger's view of life past 40.. or 50..

Terror has eight legs

During a lull on Oprah tonight I went to tidy up the kitchen.. and in a peripheral glance I saw something scuttle across the floor. My heart stopped as it always does under such circumstances.. especially this time of year when one can expect to see an occasional ‘big one.’ It wasn’t as huge as some I’ve seen, but large enough to induce the paralysis that settles over me when I catch a glimpse of one of these bad boys.

Spiders and I have a checkered past. No, that’s not true.. there’s nothing checkered about it. It’s been all bad. Tonight, alone in the house with no one else to take care of the dreaded eradication, I got mad. This is my first instinct. “What do you think you’re doing here??” I say to no one in particular. ” This is my house! No! You don’t belong here!” I feel my blood start to boil. Scared and mad.. that’s how I get. Granted, it’s an overreaction– but oh, well.

In the past I’ve resorted to any sort of aerosol.. which seems to slow an arachnid enough to really do some damage. Tonight the closest thing was cooking spray. I grabbed it. Spiders really hate spray of any kind.. and with good reason–it usually kills them.

The spray cornered this big guy.. then.. it crawled up under the cabinet (shudder). I ran to the garage and got the hard stuff.. Raid. I sprayed up under the cupboard.. again and again. I haven’t seen it since.. and I’ve spent the remainder of the evening checking the surrounding area.. and anywhere remotely close to my bed. Nothing. I sincerely hope that its sticky, rotting carcass is plastered to the cabinet’s underside. This spider’s notable absence from his family and friends should serve as fair warning to any others who may dare enter my domain. They should prepare to die.

Tiny spiders on webs drifting out of nowhere and even those little jumping ones get a free ride around here. But those bigger, beefier, hairier ones get the ax–ASPCA and PETA aside.

People say.. “Oh.. spiders are so useful.. they eat insects, and they are actually quite fascinating to watch.” Great. Let them go watch and sing the praises of these horrifying pests. I’m sorry.. but when I spot a 2 and a half pound creature with long, hairy legs roaming around the place, I prepare for carnage—-his.

Bedding up off the floor? Check. Bed moved away from the curtains? Check. My rapid heartbeat subsiding? Gradually.

Meanwhile, the can of Raid is poised for action. I’m taking no chances.

One Response to “Terror has eight legs”

  1. I have to be honest, I’m a bit appalled at your capability of killing, hehe. But I love you and am amused (though worried for you and Daisy and A. breathing the RAID) Anyway, I was reminded of an article on a similar topic by another fabulous woman in my life, I’m sure you would enjoy that article and more!!

    http://reikishamanic.com/newsarticles/article.nhtml?uid=10024

    Miss you!


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