Now, I don't want to say that I'm scared of spiders. Not that it's not true. I just feel like an idiot saying it. So, let's just go with, they make me uncomfortable. In a slightly maniacal fashion.
This guy was big. Like maybe half dollar sized. Weirdly enough, this made him a bit more tolerable because the big ones tend to be, in my experience, more lethargic, not possessing the creepy ass speed of their smaller brethren. So, I thought, maybe we could coexist peacefully. I proposed a deal to the arachnid: He didn't move and I would pretend like the fact that I was a million times bigger meant I wouldn't scream like a tiny baby child if he touched me.
To keep him from thinking I was too soft, I employed a Dread Pirate Roberts attitude as I scurried past the beast on my way to the bedroom.
"Good night, spider. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."
But the spider kept to his web and slowly I relaxed. And by relaxed, I mean that I only looked over to make sure that the spider was staying put every ten minutes rather than seconds. See? Easy breezy.
In those moments of calm, it occurred to me that my definitively embarrassing behavior as a result of the aforementioned arachnid was not far removed from that of characters in horror movies. I would run up the stairs quickly (I know, I know, NEVER go up!) and in the back of my mind I kept picturing the spider grabbing my ankles through the open staircase. I would hear the house settle and jump, thinking maybe it was from the weight of spider movement.
I imagined myself as that babysitter who calls the police about getting a bunch of weird calls and is told "The calls are coming from inside the house." The serial killer is coming up the stairs toward me.
And here's how the scene played out in my head - me, still on the phone with the dispatcher, having the following conversation:
Okay. Okay. I can hear him coming up the stairs. Please send the police quickly. I'm going to hide under the bed. Oh....Oh hell no.
What? No. No he's not up here. You think that was for him? Are you kidding me? There's a spider under my bed. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. You know what, sir? I'm going to take my chances with the slasher. Don't tell me to calm down! A SPIDER is under MY BED. A SPIDER. What are you not understanding here??
**Slasher busts through door**
Fantastic. Just what I need right now. Yeah. It's him. He's in the room. You know what, man? It's all yours. Oh, and the sickle. Really subtle. And you look like an idiot in that clown mask. You wanna scare people? Dress like a spider. Yeah. Yes, sir, I'm still on the phone. Don't you swing that sickle at me. No, sir. Why in the world would I be saying that to you? Yeah, I get it. Police on their way. Great. Will you stop worrying about this clown? If you swing that sickle at me one more time, I am going to shove it so far up where the sun don't shine I can't even tell you. Do I look like I'm kidding? You wanna kill something? Great. How about starting with the monster scurrying under the bed? You know, make yourself useful for once. Sir, stop yelling about the police! You really want to help?? Just send over a good exterminator!
I am sorry to say that, in the end, the cottage spider could not keep to his side of the deal. Not only did he make his move, but he made it in the direction of my bedroom. And that is behavior for which a lady can just not stand.