Life in a Nutshell

Spiders and me, We Have History

I have big hair. It's a gift and a curse. On the positive side, I don't have to worry about volumizing hair products, alopecia or pay any attention to all the articles and self-help quizzes aimed toward women who have "fine, thin hair."

On the other hand, things can get lost or irretrievably stuck in it. Bobby pins, earrings, the occasional scrunchy, necklaces, my reading glasses, my kid's fingers, hairbrushes, cabinet knobs — and spiders.

I wasn't always a cold-hearted killer. I had feelings once. I was a sentimental fool that would save baby birds, feral cats and random rodents that looked like they needed a savior. I was nice at one time, compassionate.

But now, like any effective serial killer, I go around trying to make everyone believe I'm a good person. That I really do have a conscience. But I don't. Not really. Not when it comes to invaders in my house, or my hair.

My mother actually had a pet spider before it was trendy. She has always been a softy, and she had a "pet" jumping spider that took up residence on a long neglected dusty sill in a seldom used spare bedroom. Living on ranches there were always an abundance of flies. (Cow shit tends to keep them around.)

Whenever she'd catch a fly, she'd bring it to the windowsill to feed the spider. Pretty soon the little monster would come out to say howdy, wave a foreleg in greeting, and climb up on her hand to get his fly dinner. I was not a fan, but I wasn't a murderer — yet.

It all started several years ago now. My husband and I were on the sofa one evening, watching something innocuous like ESPN or HGTV. Our home at the time had a vaulted ceiling in the open-plan living area and kitchen. It was a fine evening. A lovely calm night. Then my darling husband looks above my head with a devious smirk on his face and says, "You have a friend coming to see you."

I look up and much to my horror a larger than average brown fuzzy spider is descending on its tacky line of death silk, directly toward my head. I freeze like the mild-mannered prey that I am, and beg him, "Please do something!"

The man, being the man that he is, stands up with look of glee, and swats at the spider with a large throw pillow. However, the swat goes astray, the spider loses his line of safety and plummets right to the top of my head with a soft plop, and promptly disappears into the abyss of my hair.

I scream. Not just any scream, but the scream of a woman in the pit of eight-legged despair, surrounded by spiders, all of them crawling on my face and scalp, under my hair and planning to eat me slowly.

Well, that's what it felt like.

I screech and stomp, dance around and flail at my head like it's on fire — or full of spiders — same diff.

My husband, lover of my heart, man of my dreams. He becomes the loathsome killer of joy. The nemesis' accomplice and destroyer of domestic bliss. I see him rolling around on the carpet, not in pain, not in support, but in laughter. Holding his middle like he might be dying.

Which at the time was a distinct possibility if he didn't get off his anatomy and check my scalp for spiders, or at this point spider carcasses.

I stood over his prone figure and tried to shake the spider out on him, but no luck. The spider had well and truly disappeared. Even after I stopped screaming and jumping around, the search was called off, as there were no vestiges of spider parts anywhere.

I took a shower just to make sure.

However, the game had been set. The gauntlet thrown. I had a score to settle now. Like any good villain, there's a defining moment in our history. This was mine. All bets were now off. Full-scale war had been declared.

From that point on, I had no problem eliminating the enemy from my path. Now don't despair, I'm not a complete monster. Spiders outside, like my cute friend above, may live in peace. Spiders inside (depending on the variety) may be evicted, if they're small innocuous creatures, preferably vegetarian with no visible fangs or fur.

If they are larger than a dime, have fur, visible fangs, or red hourglass shapes on their tummy; they will be dispatched quickly and humanely.

But above all, spiders in my shower, will be murdered post-haste by any means necessary. Shampoo bottle, water jet, soap grenade, sponge bomb, flame thrower, etc. I'm not picky about my weapons. They chose their own doom.

Come on little dude, you had to know. You do not disrupt a lady in her shower. It's just not done.

I have saved my son repeatedly from spider invasion. When he was a baby, I cleaned spider parts out of his mouth one spring as he was learning to crawl. As any mother will tell you, no matter how well you clean the house, your baby will find the grossest thing imaginable to put in their mouths.

He won. He took the grand prize. He tried to eat a spider.

Which brings me to the latest event. Just a few weeks ago, I go downstairs to our basement family room, arms full of laundry and there in the middle of the carpet, in full view — a challenger. It was as big as a half-dollar coin. Beige-grey with fur I could see ten feet away. Looking at me and rubbing its fangs hungrily.

I couldn't look away, because as anyone knows, the moment you look away from a spider, they disappear like a fart in the wind. Never to reappear except on your pillow as you slumber.

So, we had a staring contest, the beast and me. I stood there unblinking, as I yelled up the stairs, "Honey?! I need a man down here now!"

Why I called to him for help, in my moment of need I'll never know. It probably wasn't the wisest decision, given his track record. But I'm the queen of second chances, and I really didn't want to engage in hand-to-hand combat that day.

My husband, emits a big sigh, "What now?"

"There's something down here I need you to deal with."

Another sigh echos down to me, as I hear his Crocs squeak down the basement stairs.

He joins me on the landing and looks where I'm pointing. "Oh, that's a big one!"

"Yeah, you gotta do something about it, I can get the little ones, but that's a meat eater! I can't deal with that one."

"If I kill it, you have to clean it up, it's going to splat."

"I don't care! Just kill it!" I'm still staring the beast down, willing it not to move.

The man considers his choice of weapons, chooses not to step on it, and picks up his medium sized medicine ball, filled with sand.

I'll spare you all the next events, however I did clean up the crime scene later, and it was truly gross.

Perhaps the latest battle and our victory over the invader has proved to quell the uprising. Or the usurpers are just biding their time and creating new troops to wage war with me. Either way I'm content to be relatively spider free since that incident.

I still don't trust them though; we have not made peace.

Me. This morning. With the perfect spider's nest of hair. This is why I cannot allow the arachnids safe passage in my house.