I have way more altercations with spiders than other people. You don’t believe me? Just you wait and see, nonbeliever. Also, there are no spider visual aids in this story. Because I’ve seen enough of them for a lifetime, and likely so have you.
Over the course of my life, I have had more spiders just happen to fall on me from above than I’m comfortable counting. From shower ceilings, regular ceilings, library shelves, rafters in a house in the mountains. At my sister’s hours long outdoor college graduation, my brother and I watched in horror as dozens of spiders slowly lowered themselves down from the trees and into various women’s purses in front of us. Also onto my leg.
There’s also the category of “don’t know when it got on me” spiders. A bright orange just chilling on my leg in our studio apartment. Hey! What’s happening? Or waking up to uncomfortably large disembodied spider legs on my pillow. Where’s the rest of it? Oh, oh, this one’s even worse! That time when my vision slowly auto focused on a spider lowering itself down in front of my eyes from my bangs. Did you hear me? FROM. MY. BANGS.
Sometimes the spider brings all its friends, just for fun. In the house I lived in with a few friends one year in college, a nest of spiders moved into our bathroom. And the big kahuna spider moved across the hall into my closet, I assume to survey the land for a suburb close by Bathroom Town. I only didn’t burn my clothes because I had no money to replace them.
The next year, I rented a room out of an old couple’s house that had lots of tall bushes and trellis-type things lining the front walk. One night, I was coming in late from the library with an armful of books, and I walked into a big web. Of course, the giant spider who lived there landed right on my neck, where it freaked and bit me. I flung all my belongings into the nearby bushes (naturally), hit the spider off, and fled the property. I called my friend Jennie and retreated to her house. I think I screamed one very long scream the entire drive there. Jennie and her housemates examined my neck and solemnly drew a circle around the bite to track the progress of my oncoming death. It looked more like a slash than two puncture marks. I think that spider had a sword.
In conclusion, should W and I ever reproduce, I will tell our children that they can be anything they want to be…except an arachnologist. Because Mommy will die.