I have a ridiculous fear of spiders.
This fear is not something I’m proud of as it reduces my once confident frame to a quivering almost piddling pile of mess. I get the heebeejeebees and desperately need the help of someone preferably taller, hairier and of the testicle swinging variety.
Several years ago Adam was on nightshift at the fire station. I arrived home a little after 7:00pm and put the kids straight to bed. Walking upstairs I had that icky feeling you get when you think someone is waiting around the corner to scare you; true to my feeling I looked up and there was the biggest crankiest mofo spider I had ever seen. I stood there for maybe five minutes before deciding waking up the kids and fleeing to the UK wasn’t really an option.
I tried to be brave and walk into the kitchen. When I moved, he moved as if he was going to pounce. I ended up grabbing my phone and taking a photo to prove the size of this intruder. As you can see in the photo, the monster was so big he actually needed red eye reduction. I sent the photo to the husband for justification and phoned to see if he could leave work temporarily to come and kill the spider.
When I told him – even after the lousy bugger had seen the photo – to come home he just laughed at me. Yep…pretty frigging hilarious you big dopey a-hole. YOUR wife is trapped on the stairs with YOUR kids in bed and is being terrorised by something out of the worst horror movie in history. Even his boss had some sympathy for me and kindly offered to bring around the fire truck with lights blazing to kill the monster. Admittedly, he may (or may not) have been joking but I started screaming “yes yes yes” like a crazy orgasmic woman and just heard peels of laughter interspersed with gasps of “no no no” by the a-hole husband. In my mind I actually started workshopping a shared custody agreement of the kids and new living arrangements.
I then phoned two of my nearest and dearest girlfriends…both of their husbands weren’t home and their reactions were varied. Chris was all “oooooh….I’ve had one of those bastards crawl over my face and another in my pants, there’s no chance I’m coming to your house haahaaaaaaaa” My other friend Ness had necked a few drinks and offered to ride her pushbike over to help. The offer was tempting but I couldn’t let a tipsy friend explain to the police that she was only drunk peddling to prevent death by spider trauma
I hung up on my giggling friends, eyed the 12 foot spider monster some more and may or may not have done a little wee in my pants. I then decided to be more hard core and kill it myself. That thought lasted two seconds as the spider literally flipped me the 8 legged salute. The only option left for me to take was to phone my neighbour and see if I could get a true hero to come and help.
My neighbour Bev was a spritely 70 years old at the time and had been at a lawn bowls function. A few wines to the wind and Bev came in, looked at me with a mix of sympathy and pity with her lovely wine glassed eyes, took off a shoe and killed that massive SOB. Once on the ground Bev picked it up with a tissue, gave me a hug and took it home to her bin. If it was in my bin, Bev knew I believed the spider would rise from the dead, crawl out of my bin, tap dance on my face and lay eggs in my mouth. Nightmares for years.
No matter how old or how tough you think you are, we all need awesome 70 year old neighbours. Neighbours of the Bev variety make the best spider killers, give the best hugs and can actually be more heroic than any freaking husband.