That Woman

I have to keep telling myself that I am good at lots of things. There are few things that scare me.

Snakes slithering? Well, I don’t love them, but they are fine.

Sharks? Earthquakes? Things that go bump in the night? No biggie.

Spiders.

That’s my thing.

I am petrified of spiders. I hate their tendency to skitter. I hate all those legs and the way they move and how they are always brown or black and the way they can just sit there, staring at you.

I can mostly manage spiders outside. I don’t like them, but there are places that we can both go to get away from each other, and hey they have to live somewhere (I suppose. I’m still not firm about their right to exist at all) and they eat mosquitoes and anything that eats a mosquito must have some benefit. I cannot handle them indoors. I cannot manage that. It’s a bridge too far and a chasm too deep.

So, yesterday, when I was sitting quietly, peacefully even on my couch, sipping my coffee, with pumpkin bread baking in the oven and Sunday dinner underway, reading a theology book, I was unprepared.

It was huge* and it was booking along. That spider had menace and aggression written in it’s beady little eyes – all eight of them. It was heading right at me – while I was sitting on the couch.

And that’s why, if you were wondering, I was suddenly standing up, on my couch, with my book in hand, screaming for Mr. Spit.

And that’s why I leapt off the couch and was mostly across the living room without my feet ever touching the ground when he came in the room. And that’s why I beat a strategic retreat to the front porch while he moved the couch to kill the spider that had been so startled by my shrieking that he hid under the couch.

That’s why I was *that* woman.

Because.

Spiders.

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6 Responses to That Woman

  1. Christa says:

    I’m only moderately bad with spiders, but my husband still has a few lines of a song that he made up (think old bluegrass with a guitar) that goes “Oh, who will kill, the spiders when I’m gone…” I’m sorry I can’t send the tune the accompanies it.

  2. loribeth says:

    As another old song goes, “I don’t like spiders & snakes…” ; ) At least with spiders I can crush them underfoot. But yeah, I get you. A few months ago, I was putting on eyeliner pencil, my face up close to the bathroom mirror… and a huge brown spider skittered across the mirror, about an inch in front of my nose. I screamed & dh came running. That was a little too close for comfort. (We did end up getting him & flushing him down the toilet. Bye-bye…)

  3. GeekChic says:

    I’m the official spider-wrangler at my office and at home. I like spiders and took care of the class pet tarantula when I was in junior high.

    That said, there are creatures I don’t care for – bees and wasps largely. It’s taken a lot of effort on my part to not run screaming from those and I still get the urge to do so.

    I think we all have something we fear that isn’t entirely rational. Then again, rationality is over-rated.

  4. a says:

    I think I got over it when I encountered a wolf spider when I was in the shower. Naked. Naked and without a shoe. And without my contacts or glasses for that matter – I’m quite nearsighted and I could see that thing clear as day, if that tells you how big it was.

    Anyway, now, I just kill ’em. A couple times a week, it seems.

  5. Mr. Spit says:

    Spiders have their place in the world, but cruising around where I can see them in my house? Bring on the termination by flatination.
    Just fulfilling my part of the marriage contract – carried heavy things out to the garage in the morning, killed arachnid in the afternoon.
    Huge* in the eye of the phobic one. While it wasn’t one of Shelob’s larger cousins, it wasn’t any skinny-mini, so to speak. It was rather… thinner… once I was done with it at any rate.

  6. debby says:

    I’m not afraid of spiders. I save my phobia for truely terrifying creatures. Snakes. Those things get up to eleventy feet long at our house, and they lie in wait to strike at me with their venom and their teeth. Eleventy feet long, Mrs. Spit. Doesn’t your spider phobia seem a little foolish now?

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