I posted this short story on Facebook a week ago, but I wanted to share it with my non-fb friends too. If the title didn’t act as enough of a Spoiler Alert, I should warn you, if you have heart issues related to the fear of bugs you might not want to read this.
Last night right before bed, my 11-year old Emma came rushing into my room gasping, “Spider! Spider!” as her body convulsed in a cumulative case of the heebie-jeebies. I went into her room to kill it, but I was unprepared for the size of that monster.
“Holy Shnike!” I exclaimed. No exaggeration, with its legs splayed out the thing was the diameter of a BAGEL. I grabbed a can of roach spray, stood on a stool, and fired. It fell to the ground and didn’t die!
As it scurried under the closet door I thought, “Crap! Now I have to hunt for it among the stuffed animals. It’s going to jump out at me.” I wildly started throwing stuffed animals out of the closet.
I found it again on the closet floor and doused it in bug spray, but the thing would not die! Finally I grabbed a cheer-leading baton and started beating it. Still the beast would not die! (and not because I have bad aim.) I finally knocked off a leg, and then it curled up into a slow death position.
When I flushed it down the toilet, I slammed the lid down just to punctuate my victory. That was by far the largest spider I have ever seen inside the house. I won.
Some of you have asked where my husband was on this fateful night. Well, he was out of the house picking up our son at Youth Group. God was merciful to him. He really hates spiders. For me, spiders hold a kind of terror laced fascination, but it’s the cockroaches that make me scream. I was raised in a family where, just for kicks, my father regularly chased my sister and I around the house with a Kleenex full of bug guts. I have tried that on my husband and it usually ends with me collapsed in a hysterical heap of laughter, gasping for breath. I’m giggling just thinking about it…