Oh, oh!! I’ve got one… this just makes me furious!! Y’know…when men…use Women’s Liberation as an excuse not to kill bugs for you…oh, I just hate that!!! I don’t care what anybody says, I think the man should have to kill the bug!!
It was the stuff of nightmares.
A huge black spider the size of my ear (just a few centimeters shy of Dumbo’s) inched toward my bare feet. Before you ask… No, I did not flip it over on its back to look for an hourglass. This spider was on steroids. I didn’t give a rip what kind it was.
Ordinarily, these would have been my options:
- Call Dearly Beloved to dispose of it. (Suzanne Sugarbaker was right.)
- Swat it myself.
DB was not at home, which negated the first option.
Running was not a possibility either. I was sitting on the toilet at the time. I couldn’t move until I MOVED, if you get my drift…uhm… meaning.
Couldn’t swat, as I had come to the bathroom unarmed. My bad.
The only thing I could think to do, after drawing my knees up to my chin– no easy feat on a toilet seat–was to grab the bath mat and throw it over the spider. Don’t even think toilet tissue! HA! I swear, it was so big, it made a lump under the bathmat, which I had doubled so the spider wouldn’t fling it off. As soon as possible, (flush) I stomped on it, but it had grossed me out so much I left the mat there for two days before having the nerve to lift it. I would carefully step over the mat-covered corpse to get in and out of the tub..
How the heck does something that huge suddenly appear? It couldn’t have come in through a crack. Frankly, it looked large enough to ring the doorbell. I’m surprised I didn’t hear footsteps.
We’ve never seen bugs in this house, except the occasional ladybug in cold weather, so I found myself wondering if perhaps the mutant spider helped in that regard. Did he have an exterminating office in the wall somewhere? He could have easily gulped down a roach in one bite.
No regrets for offing him. I’d rather call Orkin, thank you.
Needless to say, subsequent potty visits have been brisk.
Yesterday, I may have come up with a 4th Option, should I find myself under attack in a similar situation.
When a damnsquirrel started up the bird feeder pole again, I grabbed the superdduper pump squirt gun and ran outside, yelling for my sidekick, Miss Piggy, for backup. Unfortunately, the pump action of the watergun alerted the damnsquirrel of the attack, and the little bastard ran before I could blast him.
Miss Piggy? She was sitting on the next-to-the-bottom step, idly crunching on a Junebug.
Ordinarily that would have exasperated me, but this time, I thought I might be seeing a pony in all that manure.
My beloved Akita, the late Howard Lee, would have handled that spider. For years, he’d barge through the bathroom door and, with an apologetic glance my way, he’d stand over the tub and slurp some of my bathwater and eat the soap bubbles to get his soap fix. The dog loved soap. We had to keep the soapdishes in drawers or use liquid soaps. On the occasions he stayed in a motel with us, he’d head straight for the bathroom and have the soap eaten before we brought in the luggage. He wouldn’t have eaten the spider unless I squirted soap on it, but he would have stepped on it. Really, he would have.
Until now, Miss Piggy has gone into the bathroom only to hide behind the door when it thunders. Should there be another arachnid attack while I’m mooning the Tidy-Bowl man, I think she might come to my aid if I send out the battle call:
Stranded! Stuck on the toilet bowl… what do you do if you’re stranded… and you don’t have a roll? – Our kids, 1970’s