This morning I walk into the kitchen.
Something catches my eye.
I look up.
A big, black, disgusting, creepy, juicy black widow lingers in the corner of my kitchen...watching me.
Time for slaughter.
I like to be smart when it comes to killing spiders. If I think the spider is close enough to pounce on me, I come up with a few different scenarios on how best to destroy the little b*tard without having to actually be within five feet of it.
Today, my preferred method will be...Bug Stop spray. Says it "kills on contact."
I position myself in just the perfect spot so as not to be in the line of dropage once the widow gets a good drenching...feet off the floor, napkin in hand, 3 year old in next room...
I spray and run...
Nothing. It lives!
I assume the spider killing position again. This time, I will not be mocked.
I spray until its nasty, bony legs curl up and it falls hundreds of centimeters to its death.
But I see it still moving a little...time for the fly swatter to ensure absolute annihilation. Once the guts are in view, I will be at peace.
And then it's done.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER...
Lily and I are eating breakfast and I notice it's kind of dark in the living room.
I walk over to the curtains to get a little sunlight into the house.
And there he is...
A grotesque, fat, hairy brown spider...inches from my hand lurking on the curtain. (When I'm in doubt, I always assume it's mister Recluse...which means death...or at least a very horrible, oozing, smelly wound.)
I jump back. But the spider remains still.
Practice makes purpose. Only this time, I have fabric and carpet to contend with.
I can spray, but it may knock the spider down...onto the carpet. It would be lost in the pepper-speckled cream carpet. But I could never use the napkin-smooshing approach. Too many things can go wrong...and would lead to my demise.
Bug Stop it is.
It leaps! (Spiders can leap! What the freak!)
I jump back...and up! Shaking any particle off me that isn't genetically attached.
Okay. Where did it go?
It must die.
I get out the vacuum...plug it in...and slowly make my way to the window.
Then, as if she KNOWS something I do not, Lily plucks out a familiar tune from the piano. (I kid you not.)
Like a mad woman, I begin picking things up off the floor, shaking them...vacuuming as I go.
No sign of him.
CRAP! Hopefully, he's already there, resting uncomfortably in the vacuum.
I walk to the wall to unplug the Eureka and then see something standing out, upon the speckles of the carpet.
Could it be?
Closure is mine.
And mister Recluse goes the way of the Widow.