Yesterday, as I was sorting through the small piles of paperwork that somehow made their way to the shelves in our TV stand, I pulled out a bubble wrap envelope from a corner of the TV stand and noticed that there was a cobweb on the corner of the envelope. I immediately dropped it, looked all around inside the stand for any possible cobweb creator, then put the envelope in the designated pile of trash papers. I finished packing the keeper papers inside a medium box containing our Xbox and my jewelry box, and a few other things. I taped off this box and placed it with the other finished boxes.
Then I spent a few hours in the office packing some small boxes with odds and ends.
After that, I wanted to go to the dollar store and see if they had any cheap alternatives to bubble wrapping our more fragile pieces. I would also be on the lookout for some scouring pads to tackle the bathroom showers with. On my way out the door, I figured I would pick up and take out all of that TV stand trash sitting on the floor of the living room. I got everything into the bag, then reached for the bubble wrap envelope. That's when I saw the hefty spider hanging onto the corner of the envelope. In the same motion, I simultaneously dropped the envelope and let out a short shriek. I ran through the methods of killing such a large spider. I could squish it with my shoes, but they were ten feet away and I'd have to step over the spider to get to them. I could spray it with Lysol, but that was underneath the sink in the kitchen. I had no hard evidence against the theory that the spider was lightning fast and would run as soon as I looked away.
The closest thing to me was 409. So that's what I used.
After spraying half a bottle's worth of the antibacterial, I started a text to H. telling him what to expect when he came home from work. There was no way I was getting rid of that surprise spider myself. In the middle of the text, I received his text saying he was heading home to the apartment. At least, that's what I read after I picked my phone up off the floor - his text made my phone buzz which made me shriek again and drop the phone. I called him, left a shaky voice message detailing my battle, then contemplated my next move. I was still ten feet from my shoes. I gathered up whatever courage I had left, dumped another gallon of cleaner onto the tiny arachnid, and made a terrifying leap towards the front door. Once I had my shoes on, I felt much more protected, and headed out of the apartment with the smallest bit of accomplishment.
The logical side of my brain tells me that after that first spray of cleaner there's no way that spider could have done anything to me. It's like a paralytic, somehow, and that spider was down for the count. The logical side of my brain tells me I could have picked up the bubble wrap envelope myself and throw it away without H.'s help. The irrational side of my brain screams at me that nothing's dead til its blood 'n guts are squished all over that envelope. That the spider could pretend to be dead, and when I wasn't looking it would take off into some dark corner of the apartment and I'd have to deal with it all over again. The irrational side of my brain tells me that if I picked up that envelope, the spider would recognize me and make a last ditch effort to end me.
I'm just glad H. is so accommodating when it comes to getting rid of spiders. It might have something to do with all the tears coming out of my eyes as I told him what happened. All I know is that in our new apartment, Heaven help me, I'm never going to have paper pile up in a dark corner ever, ever again.
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