I hate bugs in my house. I hate big bugs. I despise big bugs in my house. I loathe bugs that crunch when you kill them. I despise bugs that crunch when you kill them in the house.
My husband thinks it's funny. He can't figure out how I enjoy hiking, camping and being outdoors, but hate bugs. I have told him - I respect bugs in their own environment. I will avoid them, give them a wide berth. I expect to see bugs outside. I do not expect to see them in my own home.
Last night it was just Baby and me at home. I go in the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. I remove my contacts and am walking out the door when "oh @#%$^!" There on the floor is a HUGE spider. Fuzzy and furry. The legs are thick. And it is big - as big as my palm. I don't see any evidence that it is a black widow. I put my glasses on just to make sure I'm not seeing things. I'm not.
I look around for a weapon. Not much to choose from in the bathroom. I pull out a sand bucket that Daughter likes to use in the tub. I hold it in my hand. I make sure the bottom is not so curved so as to prevent squishing. I take deep breaths. I wait. I take deep breaths. I wait. Sweat is pouring down my neck and I'm shaking. Then....BAM.....I throw the bucket down. Spider is thrown. I scream and jump. Shake my feet. Make sure spider is not on me.
Okay, deep breath. Kick bucket over - no spider on bottom. I look around. No spider anywhere. Crap. Where is the stupid thing? I jerk open the linen closet - no spider. I ease forward to peer around the door into the hall. Yikes! There it is, along the edge of the wall. I leap across the hall into Baby's room to search for another weapon. Nothing. Why did husband chose this day, of all days, to actually put his shoes away and not leave them out where they would be readily available?
I leap down the hall into my bedroom and look for a shoe. I need one with a hard sole - no rubber grooved sole. I find a few. Now, to get up enough nerve to get close enough to slam the shoe down. I just know if I get too close, this spider is going to jump on me. Just like that Arachnophobia movie. Maybe I can throw the shoe. I slowly move forward watching for any sign that the spider is moving. Slam! I throw the shoe and it moves a bit. Then stops. Hmmm, dare I hope I killed it? Slam, Bam. I throw two more. It doesn't move. Okay, it has to be dead, right? I mean what sort of thing stands there when shoes are being thrown at it's head. Even President Bush ducked.
I get another shoe in my hand, ready to creep forward and deliver a final blow. I raise the shoe over my head and "@^(#&, AGH." The thing scurries around the corner behind daughter's bedroom door. I run down the hall for a fly swatter, wondering if it has enough force to kill this thing. Who knew spiders had 9 lives?
As I grab for the fly swatter, I notice "flying insect spray." I grab it and read the label. Nothing about spiders. Can't hurt though. Contemplate the whole hairspray and lighter to make a torch approach, but given we have wooden floors I decide that might not be a good idea. So I head down the hall, spray in one hand, swatter in other.
I get to the door and realize that the spider is behind the door. I peek and don't see it. I rattle the door. It doesn't move. So I have to walk into the room and shut the door to get to it. I just know this thing is hanging under the door to jump on my foot as I walk by.
Hoo-jah. I jump into the room. Whew, made it. I use the flyswatter to shut the door. There it is. I get the spray and psshhhh. It moves. Doesn't shrivel up though. Again. Again. It's moving slow now. But there a burst of speed. #%$^ it is going into my bedroom. Where Baby is lying. "Oh no you don't," I say.
Big huge breath and swat. AAAGGGGHHHH. The fly swatter thrust the spider somewhere. Where? I peek around. There. On my floor. A squished, dead spider. Yeah. I run down the hall and find another fly swatter. I open the front door. Go back and scoop the dead spider onto one fly swatter with the other. I am carrying it down the hall. Hand outstretched, keeping it as far away as possible. I am sure this thing has another life left in him, and will use it to jump on me. My hand is shaking, causing the spider to move around on the fly swatter, contributing to my fear. Open the door. Flick. Slam door.
Back on door, slide down to floor, deep breaths. Jump up - what if spider isn't dead and crawls under the door? Go down hall. Wash hands. Repeat. Look around bathroom and hall for any relatives of the deceased who might be bent on revenge. Seeing nothing, I jump into bed.
Wiggle, twitch. I feel things crawling. Panic sets in. What if another one comes out at night? Crawls in my bed? Agh. I pull out my PDA and google search "xanax and nursing." Hmm. Not safe. Oh wait, here's something. Ambien is okay while nursing. Take leaping steps down hall. The ambien is, of course, in the dreaded linen closet, from where the spider surely originated. Open door, grab bottle, take pill, slam door.
Into bed. Nurse Baby. Tuck him in and lie down. Ahh blissful sleep - and no spider dreams either.
Final score - Enola 1; Spider 0
(I tried to find a picture of the spider. What was I thinking? As if I'd be able to search through spider images without screaming ?!?!)