The Spider Wars

 Last night, I picked up a spider-related injury.

It is not what you think it is.

As you may or may not know by now, I am severely arachnophobic. I mean, I am scared of many things in life, but I can typically ignore those fears and continue with my life despite them. But spiders, they paralyze me. Or make me move faster than I have ever moved. Or both, in some instances.

I have been alone at home for the last week while my husband takes care of a family matter. It has been a nightmare. It started on Monday, when I started packing the dishes into the dishwasher from the kitchen basin, and, as I moved the last item, and a big hairy spider was sitting in the basin. Needless to say I could no longer use the basin.

There have been a few encounters with them during the week, from the dead spider carcass that blew across my desk to the small spider crawling out of the bushel of apples I was sorting.

But the final straw happened last night. I went outside for a last smoke (yes, I know, go away) and when I was ready to back inside, there is the eight legged monster sitting on the door, just above the door handle.

So, now I was trapped outside.

I tried throwing a few plant materials at it, but this had no effect, especially since it was all leaves and lightweight. I tried to throw my shoe at it several times, and missed each time.

By this time, I was frantic, and texting my husband. He’s sitting on the other side of the planet, watching me through the camera covering our back garden, probably laughing his ass off, and trying very hard to be supportive.

Finally he suggested that I should use the torch on my phone, light up the area around the hosepipe, and just use the hose to blast the bastard off the door.

It took me about ten minutes to work up the courage to do this, but finally, I managed to wrangle loose the hose pipe, turn on the tap and then blast the doors.

And the bastard slid himself in between the two doors, snug as a bug in a rug, avoiding the arctic blast of water coming his way.

Fuck.

But I persisted, and eventually managed to wash him out of there, and then he disappeared.

Ok, so I couldn’t see him anymore. Felt safe to return inside.

So carefully returned the hose to the web-covered hanging space on the wall, closed the tap while quietly dying inside and returned to the door, torch still on.

Yanked the door open and stepped back quickly, torch still my guiding light, no sign of the asshole on the inside of the doorframe. Ok. Scan around the door, and there is the little fucker, at the bottom of the door frame, right where I would enter.

Deep breaths.

I can do this.

So I haul myself in over the little step and into the house in a very swift movement, avoiding touching the ground around where the monster is hiding.

And as I step inside, I twisted my ankle.

Ignoring the pain, I yanked closed the door, locked it, and ran upstairs.

And so it came to be that I had a spider-related injury without ever touching one.