I’m pretty blind, even with my glasses on. I keep meaning to go get an eye exam done so my prescription can be updated, but I’ve managed to put that off for the last 3 years or so. *shrugs*
That’s why this morning, I thought Pickle was playing with (i.e., getting ready to eat) a moth. She’s really taken to catching insects like moths and flies. It’s a little gross, but much better than catching things like squirrels and birds, so I try not to judge.
I casually said to my husband, who was much closer to her, “That’s a pretty big moth Pickle’s got cornered.” My sweet husband looked over from his recliner, raised his eyebrows, and calmly said, “That’s not a big moth, it’s a big spider.”
He might as well have said, “Honey, there’s an axe murderer at the door” because adrenaline launched me off the couch like an Olympian.
I am an arachnophobe. No matter how much I try to “live and let live”, spiders are my exception. Yes, I know they’re beneficial, and they mean no harm, yada yada nature, yada yada ecosystem, yada yada whatever. I don’t care. They creep me out.
So, I’m moving towards the object of Pickle’s interest while yelling “Kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it”…..I’m not sure if I was talking to Pickle or my husband, but I wanted that spider dead.
They’re quick, those spiders. Its dash to the baseboard and behind the sofa table (which had my SHOES tucked underneath it) made for great escape. Pickle finally lost interest and went off to find something else to play with, and my husband shrugged his shoulders and returned to his recliner.
You’d think that a man who’s lived with me for nearly 15 years would instinctively know that there is no returning to a recliner when there is a big friggin’ spider AT LARGE IN THE LIVING ROOM! Though I’m wondering what exactly he thought “for better or worse” implied if not for insect duties, it’s Easter Sunday, we’re expecting 15 people within an hour, and I’m going to have to be a spider hunter.
20 minutes later I see hairy spider legs and alert my husband by running in place, flapping my arms, and saying “Oooooohh ewwwww ewwww ewwww yuuuuuuuggggg!” which every husband understands to mean “I found the spider.”
Husband joins me and “oohs and aaahs” over the spider’s impressive size. Honestly, this man is just missing the mark on appropriate responses today. He takes a photo, then goes off to find something with which to TRANSPORT the spider out of doors, rather than kill it. Again, I’m alone guarding the prisoner.
This is the payback I deserve for torturing one of my best friends, a fellow arachnophobe, with photos of spiders. Though I can empathize with his irrational fears, I’m unaffected by visual images so it’s amusing for me to terrorize him with pictures on his Facebook page or in his email.