Spazzing Out Over A Spider

I wasn't going to tell you this next story for two reasons. One: it's really long. Two: I come off looking foolish. More foolish than I usually look. However, there is some humor to the story so it's worthy of sharing.

Picture it: Monday I was driving my oldest homette to swim practice. This drive occurs on country roads in which the posted speed limit is fifty miles per hour. I tend to drive a bit north of the posted speed limit, enough above it to feel like I'm sticking it to The Man and getting away with a crime, but not enough above the limit to (if pulled over) be lead away in handcuffs and have to attend mandatory Defensive Driving classes from the clink.

Another piece of information that you need to know to fully appreciate this story: I do not like spiders. I do not like them at all. At all. Not even a little tiny bit. I can't handle it when the spider is safely encased in an old aquarium, like in my friend Banana's classroom (she's a teacher and she thinks a tarantula makes an awesomely sweet classroom pet. I do not share this opinion). Spiders completely weird me out. Not because I'm afraid that one will go all gangster on me, but because they unexpectedly pop up in the most peculiar of places. Like your teacup or your ice cream scoop. Both are true stories.

I tell you this because my oldest child announced on the way to swim practice in a very loud, very shaky voice that there was a very large spider on the back of my headrest. Imagine dropping that bomb on me as I was careening down the road Monday evening.

A. Spider.

Good night Gracie and a barrel full of monkeys, a spider. On my head rest. The horror! The horror!

My oldest daughter freaked out, which in turn, made me freak out and we all know that I am not prone to freak outs … much. Our joint freak out involved lots of shrieking, random arm flapping, and other assorted, undignified, primal sounds. We had calmed down a bit when my oldest hollered something very terrifying and very clear.

'MOM! The spider is almost in your HAIR!'

Oh my gentle Jesus, the spider is headed for my hair! Nothing strikes terror in my being like an arachnid headed for my freshly highlighted locks. I'm not proud of what I did next, but I was operating on sheer adrenaline. My reaction? I slammed on the brakes, pulled the Honda over to the side where I screamed so loud that I threw up in the weeds growing by the side of the road.

Throwing up by the side of the road is not among my proudest moments as a mother. Or even as a human being. After some mouth rinses and deep breathes, I returned to the Honda to commence hunting for that spider so I could squish him with my Nike. Please don't send me angry letters stating that I should have caught the spider and safely deposited him outside where he could run free. I was in a fight or flight situation, people. Well, fight, flight or throw up. I chose to do all three.

My oldest, who by now thought this was the funniest thing she'd seen in years, found the arachnid hanging out on the side of my car seat, just waiting for my return. I grabbed a napkin and smacked the spider. It fell off the side of my seat and ended up … somewhere … inside the car. I had no idea if it were dead or alive. I had no carcass to prove death, but I had no live body either. Ugh.

And I still had to drive the child to swim practice, all the while not knowing if Spidey was going to spring out at me again.

I very shakily drove to practice and then back to my house where I sought consolation and sympathy from my husband. He had neither consoling remarks nor sympathetic gestures and he refused to let me drive his truck while he drove the spider infested Honda.

They say chivalry is dead.

Tuesday, I decided, I would put the spider out of my mind. Since denial and I are great friends, I was pretty successful at pretending not only that the spider was deceased, but that he had also been removed from my car. If the thought that he was still alive and waiting for me, plotting his revenge, ever entered my mind, it was immediately pushed out by more pleasant thoughts. Like butter. This strategy worked well for me.

Until I was in line at the car wash.

When the spider ran across my thigh. Ran across my thigh, people. Ran. As in scurried, scampered, scooted. Across my leg.

I was momentarily paralyzed. I couldn't do my normal freak out because I didn't want the boys at Mike's Car Wash to forever refer to me as 'Crazy Freak Out Lady'. After I allowed myself a mini spazz attack, I pulled myself together to do serious battle with this arachnid.

I grabbed the nearest thing (a sales flier for the local fabric store) and started whacking my thigh with it. I missed the spider every time, but gave myself a lovely bruise. Once again, I had no idea where the spider went, but I knew he was still in the car with me. I had no escape. I was only halfway through the car wash.

After finishing the rinse and hot air drying stages of the car wash, I pulled over by the vacuuming station and got out of the Honda to look for the spider. I found the little bugger hiding out on the side of my seat again, just waiting to make his next move.

I'd like to tell you that this story ends with me finally smooshing and removing a dead spider from my Honda, but it doesn't. Yes, it ends with a dead spider being removed from my car, but I didn't do the killing. That honor belongs to Ed, the guy vacuuming out his Subaru next to where I'd hastily parked my car in order to spider hunt. Ed thinks spider are 'cool' and he volunteered to take care of Spidey. I think Ed is a bit touched in the head, but my Honda is now spider free.

A spider free Honda makes me happy. Pin It Now!