It is no secret to anyone that knows me, that I am extremely, thoroughly, incurably terrified of spiders. I don’t know how or when it started, but for as long as I can remember they have always gave me the heaby-jeabies. It’s true. It is true I have arachnophobia. If the story I am about to tell you doesn’t convince you, then let me tell you this first…
I was 16 or 17 – had just gotten home from basketball practice and my parents and brother (who I lived with) had gone out-of-town. So it was just me, all alone, and completely at the mercy of the eight-legged fiend that had placed itself precisely on my bed. Right as I was walking through the door, the phone rang. So I threw my bag on my bed, and ran back to get the phone. It was my brother checking in on me. As we were talking I walked back into my room and went to grab my back when I realized that Mr. Eight Legs had maneuvered himself to be on the strap of my bag. Of course, talking on the phone I wasn’t paying super attention and reached out to grab my bag and at the very last second I noticed him move a little. Of course this got my full attention and what did I do…none other that scream at the top of my lungs. (maybe more than once, but I won’t make myself sound like to much of a pansy). The screaming obviously freaked out my brother who was wondering what the heck was going on. I didn’t hear him. Phone still in my left hand, I reached for a shoe (maybe, things get a little blurry right here) and just start swinging and swatting like I am trying out for the Tennis team. Probably screaming and yelling. (ok, most definitely screaming and yelling). After a few successful aims, Mr Eight Legs is no more. Feeling triumphant and shaky like I just won the Superbowl, I get back on the phone to relay my experience to my more than freaked out brother and parents. They, of course, couldn’t stop laughing. Not much has changed about me since that day where spiders are concerned…
Tonight while I was loading the dishwasher I was chatting with my oldest daughter (8 1/2 years old). I was moving along quickly, not realizing the fact that there was another Mr Eight Legs in the sink under some of the dishes. (I swear I did them this morning…really). So I lift a plate up to load it and what is staring (YES STARING with big nasty eyes) is a dime sized jumping spider…ok – so not too big, but big to ME. I almost dropped the plate and start anxiously looking about for something, anything to smash it with…No paper towels – no tissues – where is everything??? Can’t turn the water on and wash it away because of the drain guard. My daughter notices my bit of panic and asks me what is wrong.
“Tissue – run to the bathroom and get tissue” I demand.
“Is it a spider?” she asks me
“YES – hurry” I reply
I bravely start moving the rest of the dishes out-of-the-way so that I can get a clean shot at him. Much to my benefit he doesn’t move much, considering I kept dropping cups and silverware in my haste to keep my hands out of the sink…Finally (like 3 seconds later, but seemed like an hour) she returned with the toilet paper (and not just one square, bless her). I crumpled it up and readied my aim…attempt 1 didn’t go so well, missing entirely…two wasn’t much better. With the second attempt I managed to get him, but not hard enough because I got scared, and pulled my hand back (without the tissue) just as said Mr Eight Legs climbs on top of it. EEEKKK. Ok, what to do. A slight movement of my hand over the sink sends him skittering back under the tissue, so I try again, pushing down on it as to end this embarrassing display, and much to my dismay he survives. I sequel and jump back (several feet) and stand there dancing like a two-year old needing to go potty.
“Oh my heck. Oh my heck. DAD is going to spray the house tomorrow!” I say trying to calm down.
“Did you get it mom?” my daughter asks coming over to me.
“No. Oh my heck” I reply, thinking about how my nightmares of this big eyed jumping spider will play out.
“Here mom, let me get it” she says walking over to the sink.
Before I know what is going on…she is at the sink and as brave as anyone I know, she reaches in and “crunch” (yes it was audible, and gross, and shiver inducing). EWWWW.
“I got it mom. Did you hear it crunch. It actually crunched” My oldest says with a joyous but horrified look on her face.
“You got it. Thank you. Thank you” I say, giving her a hug.
“I saved your life mom” she replies, straightening her posture with a big smile on her face.
“You’re right! You did save my life” I said
Needless to say, Mr. Eight Legs is floating along in the sewers now.
If you have a funny story I would love to hear it (might even make me feel a little better) lol.
(This post was originally featured on Laugh Live Repeat, another site that we own. We have decided to get rid of it and merge it with this one. This story is our own.)