I walked into the laundry room and saw a huge spider. Mega spider. The sort of spider an arachnophobe dreads finding in her home. I yelled for my husband, also an arachnophobe.
“I’ve got a spider I need you to kill, and you’re not going to like the look of it!”
He saw it, shuddered, and found something to kill it with. It was in an awkward spot, perched high up in the corner behind the washing machine. I left the room, because if there’s anything worse than seeing a giant spider in my laundry room it’s seeing a giant spider move in my laundry room.
I’m safely out of the room, playing with the baby, when I hear, “Whoa! The fucker jumped at me!” This is totally not what I wanted to hear, and I said as much.
“Well, he’s gone,” says my husband.
“Gone?” I query. I’m completely unsatisfied with this.
“He jumped at me, and then dropped behind the washing machine. I’m not going to pull the washer out to hunt for the spider. He probably crawled into a dark crevice. I’m sure you’ll never see him again.”
I’ll spare you the whining and sniveling that came… Read the rest