How can you NOT be terrified of a spider? They're icky.
The house is structually sound and very well built. However, we live in the desert and these things just find their way in. Especially when you are married to a guy that never closes doors. Adam once got out of the passenger side of our car and waltzed into Barnes and Nobel, killed a half hour browsing with me, then walked back out to the car to find that he had left the car door open. Not just unlocked, but hanging open.
After finding a black widow by our garage door just chillaxin in the night on her tangled web of fear, I had an emotional breakdown (Hello, phobia! Good to see you again!) that involved me screaming crying (Scrying) about wanting and needing Pest Control services to frequent our house. If it was up to me they'd be circling our casa at all hours of the night blasting away at anything that scurries. Adam didn't seem to care; he told me to stop scrying and get over it. I told him to take a hike. I guess he took me very literally because he quickly left the presence of the Fire Breathing Spider Hater.
While Adam went for a walk to distance himself from the Scrying Wife Girl, I decided I needed to vent and started feverishly texting my sister. But instead of texting my sister I mistakenly texted my rant directly to Adam's phone.
Oops. Sorry hubbs.
After some apologies, and some serious conversations, we realized that he was just concerned about cost. It turned out to be very affordable so we scheduled routine appointments for the pest people to come blast the perimeter to oblivion. Peace for me..and peace for the husband.
Oh! And I realized that I shouldn't mouth off about my sweet hubbs in a text again.
Or at least be really careful about who you send it to.
It's been a blissful few months until we got home tonight after going out for dinner and a concert. As I unlocked the garage door (seriously, what is it about the garage door that attracts these things??) there she was.
Tan. Eight legs. Staring. Dangling from gossamer that glistened in the moonlight.
I think I launched the house keys into the next zip code and threw my hands into the air as I ran screaming into the night. Adam calmly tried to pick the Freak off the door to set her outside.
That's the true definition of someone who wouldn't hurt a flea, huh?
What is wrong with him??! Had I been alone (I shudder at the thought) I would have gotten a bottle of spray and a hammer and obliterated the arachnid until not longer recgonizable. It would have been my own personal CSI:Araneus diadematus.
Unfortunately for me, he dropped her and she promptly scurried into the house. Adam just doesn't move fast enough for me so I barrelled past him, grabbed one of his sneakers that was by the door, and started slamming the spider with my Nike weapon. I think I gave her 23 blows. Death by blunt force trauma.
I want to make this next part very clear: Never - NEVER! - use your own shoe to annihilate a spider. That will only leave you with spider remnants on your shoes, and thats just gross, ladies. However, your husband's shoes are perfectly acceptable. Actually, anything that belongs to your husband is fair game, especially if you have given birth to his child. (We don't have kids yet so I have to stick to shoes only.)
I told him I was going to set his shoes outside since there was spider pate on the sole. He scoffed at the idea while wiping the juice from his shoe. After he settled in for the night, I did this:
The wife always wins. :)
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