Thursday, June 23, 2016

6-23 On This Day

There are so many things that need to get done today but all I can focus on is the dead spider in this tissue.


My daughter screamed bloody murder—this is not unusual, she's almost 12—and I went to her room to find a spider sitting on her bed. Big enough that I could see it from across the room, small enough that I couldn't tell exactly what type.

I calmly [SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE] grabbed a tissue [SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE] and pounced on it until I heard that little telltale pop [SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE] that let me know this was now a former spider. I squashed the abdomen gingerly enough that the cephalothorax (yes I just googled that) was intact and I could closely inspect it [SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE] where I found the little fiddle shape [SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE] and confirmed it was poisonous [SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE].

I calmly [SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE] instructed my daughter to clean the clutter in her room and called the pest control people.

I'm not a fan of spiders and living in Oklahoma (aka spider central) has forced me to embrace a little arachnid education. I mean, I'm really okay with spiders in general—I long ago made a pact with them that goes a little like this:
If I see you outside, I will leave you be. If you come in my house and I can reach you, it's over. If you come in my house and I can't reach you and you're poisonous, it's over. If you come in my house and I can't reach you and you're not poisonous, we can live in peace, as long as you stay out of reach. You come within reach, I kill you. Personal space.
Right now my house feels like the house in Poltergeist, except I built mine on top of poisonous spider personal space. So maybe I brought this on myself?

1 comment:

  1. Dude, I hate spiders too. We found a brown recluse in our bed the other night right after we turned off the lights.

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