For the Love of Spiders
So anyone that knows me well knows that I am arachnophobic.
This started when I was about 7. I remember being in a big warehouse, one that produced T-shirts. My mother did the books for this company, and I always tagged along in the summer.
I was sitting on this couch they had in the office, and I decided to lay down. Now, this is a warehouse, so the ceilings were wicked high. It took me a few minutes to find it, but I saw, directly above my head, was a daddy long legs spider. Just still, on the ceiling, upside down in all its terrifying terror. I remember what struck me was the intense fear that it would jump down on one of its web strings of doom and land square on my face and end me. Just end me.
So I couldn't move. I thought that if I went to move, took my eyes off of it, it would know and take the chance to surge down and embed itself in my scalp. These are the thoughts of a horrified 7-year old.
Eventually, my mom and one of the workers must have noticed my physical sign of fretting (sweating, wincing, silent weeping). They assured me that the spider was dead, and even if he wasn't, he was more afraid of me than I was of him, and that I had no risk of him repelling down and sneaking into my nasal cavity to lay eggs whilst I slept. I didn't believe them. But we left. And I remained unscathed.
I have grown since then, and am still about-face-haul-ass-in-the-other-direction scared of most spiders, but the little brown ones that hang out on your windows and daddy long legs don't scare me as much. I can level with them. "Hey dude, you stay where you are, I'll stay where I am, and it'll all be groovy." It works. We mesh. And really, they aren't about to just zip on down into your bowl of cereal. They're just up there on the ceiling, hanging out with dust bunnies and fake popcorn.
I tell you all that, so that I can relay what just. fucking. happened.
So I hop in the shower. I'm a-brushin. I'm a-scrubin. I'm a-singin. Doing all of my showerly things. I look up towards the light fixture and see a small daddy long legs just hanging out. It's not the first time a spider has been up there (for fuck's sake, we had a swarm of BEES up there once, but I digress...) and I wasn't too alarmed. Again, "Hey man, lemme shower, you enjoy the floral-scented mist that comes your way, we'll be copasetic."
Time goes by. Conditioner is rinsed. Chorus is botched. So on, and so on. I'm in the not-so-shower-head end of the shower when I turn around and BAM, who's hanging out too fucking close to my neck? DADDY-O. I thought we'd shared an agreement. A treaty. An understanding. I suppose not.
"BLLLARRRGGGGD!"
Out of the shower I went. Now my feet are dirty. I have soap all over me. The kitten is alarmed. It reaches the flow of the water and realizes (DUH) that it's really not a great place for a spider to be, so he starts to retreat. Oh no, not just yet. We had a deal. And you fucked it up. So now, you die. I start by trying to splash water up toward him. No deal. Aim the shower head? Nope, he's too high, and now the bathroom is soaked. Mom's gonna be pissed.
A quick look around the bathroom, and my eyes land on aerosol hairspray. That'll work.
I turn around and spray that fucker till he coils up into a perfectly set, soft to the touch, humidity resistant coif.
After the spray settles, I jump back in, finish off showering, and flicked that sucker off the ceiling and down the drain.
That is my story.
This started when I was about 7. I remember being in a big warehouse, one that produced T-shirts. My mother did the books for this company, and I always tagged along in the summer.
I was sitting on this couch they had in the office, and I decided to lay down. Now, this is a warehouse, so the ceilings were wicked high. It took me a few minutes to find it, but I saw, directly above my head, was a daddy long legs spider. Just still, on the ceiling, upside down in all its terrifying terror. I remember what struck me was the intense fear that it would jump down on one of its web strings of doom and land square on my face and end me. Just end me.
So I couldn't move. I thought that if I went to move, took my eyes off of it, it would know and take the chance to surge down and embed itself in my scalp. These are the thoughts of a horrified 7-year old.
Eventually, my mom and one of the workers must have noticed my physical sign of fretting (sweating, wincing, silent weeping). They assured me that the spider was dead, and even if he wasn't, he was more afraid of me than I was of him, and that I had no risk of him repelling down and sneaking into my nasal cavity to lay eggs whilst I slept. I didn't believe them. But we left. And I remained unscathed.
I have grown since then, and am still about-face-haul-ass-in-the-other-direction scared of most spiders, but the little brown ones that hang out on your windows and daddy long legs don't scare me as much. I can level with them. "Hey dude, you stay where you are, I'll stay where I am, and it'll all be groovy." It works. We mesh. And really, they aren't about to just zip on down into your bowl of cereal. They're just up there on the ceiling, hanging out with dust bunnies and fake popcorn.
I tell you all that, so that I can relay what just. fucking. happened.
So I hop in the shower. I'm a-brushin. I'm a-scrubin. I'm a-singin. Doing all of my showerly things. I look up towards the light fixture and see a small daddy long legs just hanging out. It's not the first time a spider has been up there (for fuck's sake, we had a swarm of BEES up there once, but I digress...) and I wasn't too alarmed. Again, "Hey man, lemme shower, you enjoy the floral-scented mist that comes your way, we'll be copasetic."
Time goes by. Conditioner is rinsed. Chorus is botched. So on, and so on. I'm in the not-so-shower-head end of the shower when I turn around and BAM, who's hanging out too fucking close to my neck? DADDY-O. I thought we'd shared an agreement. A treaty. An understanding. I suppose not.
"BLLLARRRGGGGD!"
Out of the shower I went. Now my feet are dirty. I have soap all over me. The kitten is alarmed. It reaches the flow of the water and realizes (DUH) that it's really not a great place for a spider to be, so he starts to retreat. Oh no, not just yet. We had a deal. And you fucked it up. So now, you die. I start by trying to splash water up toward him. No deal. Aim the shower head? Nope, he's too high, and now the bathroom is soaked. Mom's gonna be pissed.
A quick look around the bathroom, and my eyes land on aerosol hairspray. That'll work.
I turn around and spray that fucker till he coils up into a perfectly set, soft to the touch, humidity resistant coif.
After the spray settles, I jump back in, finish off showering, and flicked that sucker off the ceiling and down the drain.
That is my story.