Everyone who has a good sense of what is right and decent in this world is terrified of spiders. They are big, gangly, overly leggy imbeciles and they wish to inflict pain and suffering all from the top right corner of your living room. The one place you should feel safe in this world. They don’t even pay rent.
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that these bastards have meetings and brainstorming sessions with flow charts and festive doughnuts just to really get to the root of how to terrify me the most, and plan how to really break into whatever serenity I’ve managed to instill into my fluffy little head space. They have a system. It is not random, their plots are organised. The end is nigh.
You think I’m exaggerating? Well let me give you an example. One evening, several years ago, I was home alone. How’s that for scene setting? Home alone on a dark night – definitely the stuff nightmares are made of. Anyway, I was happily sitting on the couch with my laptop on my knees. The power cords were heading over to the power source on my left, and the mouse was being used by my right hand. This is important, it means I was kind of engulfed by my laptop and its cords, with no access to a speedy getaway. So, I’m happily on the couch, liking stuff on Facebook, reading tweets, or working (or some convoluted mixture of all three) when this octo-leggy bastard descends from the ceiling. Yup, on his little spider bungy cord business, this prick sped down from the ceiling above me and waggles his fucking terror stick right in my face!
What the hell purpose would he have to do that if it weren’t a planned out conspiracy just to get to me? I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look directly at him. He was about to land on my laptop and launch his evil campaign from the vantage point of my thighs. I just couldn’t. I calmly slid my laptop from my lap and onto the couch and sped away to the bedroom, where I shoved a towel beside the door crack to stop him following me while I convulsed a little. Then I waited for my husband to return and fight the beast.
See? That’s the kind of shit spiders think is funny. This is why I could never live in a proper spider country, like Australia. They’d kill me. I’d kill myself. It wouldn’t work.
My most recent spider catastrophe happened during the two minutes silence on Armistice Day. I knew it was the two minutes silence because the folks on the radio had shut the hell up. I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business when I glanced down at my handbag. The room went dark as the beast blocked out all available light sources. It darted behind my bag and around the corner of the room, coming up behind me, circling its prey in a way that can only indicate that spiders have access to too many David Attenborough documentaries.
I jumped. I fled. I screamed. I squealed. I whined. It was the kind of spider that you look at and instinct screams, OH GOD GIANT WETA and then you realise that you don’t live in New Zealand and it’s really a GIANT SPIDER so I got louder and louder. Eventually a colleague came in to dual with the devil. He flattened the intruder underfoot. The crunch was audible. Thankfully, he also disposed of the corpse.
They’re getting more crafty, in fact. Another time I arrived at work and a giant terror beast had parked itself smack in the middle of the corridor, taunting me, daring me to climb over him. Of course I couldn’t do this. I grabbed my iPhone and called upstairs for backup to come down and aid my cause. The bastard overheard my conversation and even though I tried to be vague he knew that his life was at stake. What did he do? Scurry across to the side of the corridor and curl himself in to a tiny little ball. It’s amazing the yoga poses these cretins can pull off. He was hoping that I would just walk past, forgetting the past torment and let him live to terrorise me another day. No such luck. I oversaw procedure while this deviant was flushed down the lavatory.
So let that be a warning to you, eight legged varmint! While you may think this is all for shits and giggles and possibly a rite of passage to show yourself while I’m alone then dash into the big pile of clothes I’ve left on the floor, thus rendering me without half my wardrobe for the next three months, know that I have an army at my disposal.
While you think it’s a terribly funny to wait until I’m already peeing before crawling out from underneath the door and then galloping towards me at the speed of light, know that this behaviour will cost you your life. You’ll get your few gleeful moments of seeing me scream and cry, but then it’s crunchy crunchy. Trust me. No one lives to tell the tale.
PS. This makes total sense because lots of spiders read my blog. Obviously.