I hate spiders. I almost positive those little buggers scout out my fear and purposely crawl onto my arm, or my wrist, or dangle in my shower, or sit on my car door handle awaiting for me to show up.
But what’s worse about this totally impractical (and very inconvenient) fear is that I can’t kill them! I can’t! I won’t even take a shoe and squish their little bodies. I don’t like the thought of their guts just hanging out on the bottom of the shoe. Ew. The only way I can destroy the deadly creatures (Okay, maybe deadly is a little much here in Alaska, where there is, I think, only one potentially dangerous spider) is to grab a long item, such as a broom, trick the spider into climbing onto said long item, and shake it off into the toilet. And I flush the little sucker down! Oh, and then I watch for a minute after the flush is complete to make sure the spider doesn’t make it’s way back up to the surface where it can wait for revenge.
I’m sure that there is a jokester of a spider that lives outside my house. Every morning there is a web encompassing my whole house, including my car and dog’s kennel. Every day, when I leave the house, I have to bust my way through this ginormous web. And every day, I imagine the little beast hiding on my roof, giggling at my attempts to act nonchalant about the whole situation for the sake of my kid’s (I don’t want my children to see my freak reaction to spiders and end up with the same fear).
I’d like to point out that this irrational fear generated from my mother’s irrational fear. I grew up watching her act as if Death himself walked into the room with his finger pointed at her every time she saw a spider. So it’s no wonder I have a negative reaction to these creatures.
Here’s an example of my mom’s panic attacks. I was in our u-shaped kitchen with my back to exit of the room. My mom was facing me with her back towards the back of the room. We were standing there having a perfectly normal conversation when I noticed a puny spider weave it’s way down from the ceiling between us. Let me remind you, here in Alaska, the chances of you DYING from a spider is practically a zero. I started to panic, but because the spider wasn’t actually on me, I decided to warn my mom about the impending danger.
“Mom, there’s a spider…” I didn’t even have the chance to say the spider was harmlessly dangling in the air, before she lunged forward – towards me – to run out of the kitchen. I literally had to leap out of the way.
So here I am, sprawled out on the floor, laughing like a crazed hyena, while my mom magically found a blanket and ceremoniously beat it up against her in hopes that the spider was indeed gone.
Of course, I’ve had my share of shameful outbursts stemmed from the killer spiders, but I’ll save those for another time. But I will bestow my piece of advice – You will not die from a tiny, nonpoisonous spider hanging from the spider.