Retro blog post!
Originally posted October 13, 2004, on my old blog.
My brother is afraid of spiders, and the other night I was watching Scare Tactics-I don’t watch that much anymore because Steven Baldwin is The Baldwin that Can’t Find Other Work-and he comes downstairs with an I-just-saw-a-ghost look on his face.
“There’s a HUGE fucking spider in the bathroom,” he said. “It’s like, this big.” He made a circle with both his hands. “It’s gonna eat me, I swear to god.”
“Where is it?” I said, meaning where it was in the bathroom.
“It’s on the wall. Come and look at it, it’s fucking huge.” So I went upstairs and there, on the wall under the window, was a huge, marble-sized orb weaver. We stared at it for a while and then my brother said “Get a cup.” I grabbed a Dixie cup out of the holder and handed it to him. He tentatively crept toward the arachnid and suddenly stopped.
“Can these things kill you if they bite you?” he inquired.
“Probably,” I teased.
“God dammit,” he sighed. “Gimme another cup.” I grabbed another one out of the holder, and also one that was on the counter. He put one cup inside another one and put the third cup’s mouth against the mouth of the double cup, making a sort of trap. He crept toward the spider again-backed up-crept toward it again-“God dammit, this thing’s going to eat me alive”-backed up and crept toward it again, and just to tease him I blew on it, sending it scuttling back up the wall where it nestled comfortably (at least I think it was comfortably) on the back of the towel rack.
“Dammit!” exclaimed my brother. “I almost had him.” He poked at the spider’s protruding legs with the cups, eventually sending it on a thread toward the floor, where it landed in a corner behind the bathtub.
“Where’d it go-oh, there it is. I see it,” he said. He finally scooped up the offending arachnid, trapping it inside the Dixie cups.
“What should I do with it?” he said, thrusting the cups jokingly toward me.
“Throw it outside! Get it away from me!” I squealed. So he tossed it out the bathroom window, where it is hoped that it scuttled away and made a web somewhere where I can’t run into it.
My brother is afraid of spiders, and the other night I was watching Scare Tactics-I don’t watch that much anymore because Steven Baldwin is The Baldwin that Can’t Find Other Work-and he comes downstairs with an I-just-saw-a-ghost look on his face.
“There’s a HUGE fucking spider in the bathroom,” he said. “It’s like, this big.” He made a circle with both his hands. “It’s gonna eat me, I swear to god.”
“Where is it?” I said, meaning where it was in the bathroom.
“It’s on the wall. Come and look at it, it’s fucking huge.” So I went upstairs and there, on the wall under the window, was a huge, marble-sized orb weaver. We stared at it for a while and then my brother said “Get a cup.” I grabbed a Dixie cup out of the holder and handed it to him. He tentatively crept toward the arachnid and suddenly stopped.
“Can these things kill you if they bite you?” he inquired.
“Probably,” I teased.
“God dammit,” he sighed. “Gimme another cup.” I grabbed another one out of the holder, and also one that was on the counter. He put one cup inside another one and put the third cup’s mouth against the mouth of the double cup, making a sort of trap. He crept toward the spider again-backed up-crept toward it again-“God dammit, this thing’s going to eat me alive”-backed up and crept toward it again, and just to tease him I blew on it, sending it scuttling back up the wall where it nestled comfortably (at least I think it was comfortably) on the back of the towel rack.
“Dammit!” exclaimed my brother. “I almost had him.” He poked at the spider’s protruding legs with the cups, eventually sending it on a thread toward the floor, where it landed in a corner behind the bathtub.
“Where’d it go-oh, there it is. I see it,” he said. He finally scooped up the offending arachnid, trapping it inside the Dixie cups.
“What should I do with it?” he said, thrusting the cups jokingly toward me.
“Throw it outside! Get it away from me!” I squealed. So he tossed it out the bathroom window, where it is hoped that it scuttled away and made a web somewhere where I can’t run into it.