Spiders

Did you know that the average adult swallows eight spiders in a lifetime? Or is it in a year.  Whatever, the very thought makes me ill.

Picture this: you are a woman of nearly sixty.  You have blind spots in your vision, so you miss things occasionally.  You are in your basement from Hades.  You know you have to do laundry or go to work naked.  Not a pretty thought.  You root through the pile by the washer hoping to find just ONE MORE clean uniform for Hubby.  Something tickles your arm.  You wave it away.  It is on your hand.  You see nothing. Then you put your glasses on and there it is--A SPIDER!!!!

Our house gets inundated by spiders every spring.  Teensy ones in black and white, greenish ones, daddy-long-legs....I hate them all.  I don't want to kill them, superstitious person that I am.  I just don't want them in my space.

Anyway, you must have heard me shriek all the way to Utah.  I swatted at that dang spider instead of squishing it.  It was gone, I thought.  But no, the strong, invincible, slightly stunned creature was on top of the uniform for which I had been hunting.  I swear he looked at me and twitched before he landed on my foot and crawled swiftly up my pant leg. I got out of those faster than Gypsy Rose Lee, but not nearly as gracefully.  I snatched the uniform and a clean robe and high-tailed it to the sanctity of my living room.

I shook out the uniform, folding it and putting it aside. I put on the robe, shaking it, too.  No spider.  I took Hubby his uniform and turned to leave the room.

"Hold on!" he said.  Romantic interlude? I thought.  "There's a spider crawling up your back!" The dance I did would have put Chubby Checker to shame.  I shook out my hair, my clothes.  He looked to see where the spider had fallen. We couldn't find it.

I will not sleep in my bed tonight.  I won't sleep on the couch because it will disturb the dog.  I might have to doze in my LaZBoy.  I don't mind so much if I know where the spider is.  This one is out for revenge, I know it.

I shake out my electric blanket throw.  I pick up my unread Times-News.  I gather up my notebook to write another essay.  I reach for my pen on the end table.  ^&*%!!!  There he sits.  He is following me.  I shout for my husband, but he is in the shower.  No neighbor comes running.  I am on my own.

I reach for the newspaper.  When I turn back, the spider is gone.  Rocco is sniffing at something.  He jumps back, then growls and snaps.  He makes a face.  There is a dead spider on the floor.

My hero!