One morning about two weeks ago, I was knee-deep in my daily morning routine: coffee in hand, I take my handy dandy little golfcart for a spin around the grounds to check all the units. (For those who might not remember, I work–and live–at a storage facility.) So there I was…minding my own business, when out of the corner of my eye, I notice the sun glinting ever-so-gently on something hanging from the building.
I slowed the cart, and my heart started racing before my brain even registered what it was that I was looking at.
There, spanning almost the entire width of unit 503’s door, was the biggest spider web I’ve ever seen in my life. And attached to it was, you guessed it, the “Big Foot” of the spider world.
I tried, for the sake of blog fodder, to take a picture with my cell phone. I really really did. And I’ve tried every single day since then, so I could prove to you that I’m not crazy and that Spiderman’s cousin, Merve, lives at my job now. But I just couldn’t do it. So, here’s a bad drawing instead.
Damn. I couldn’t even bring myself to draw it. Forgive me, readers. Blame my raging case of arachnophobia.
Anyway, after this first Spider Sighting, I spent a lot of time thinking about just how to handle the situation. I was too chicken to deal with it myself, so I had two options: Tell my husband and make him go kill it, or leave it alone and hope it would get bored and move somewhere with a more swinging night life.
Brian didn’t go kill it. And it didn’t move to Vegas.
So for two weeks, I drove ever-so-slowly past the giant sleeping spider, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn’t leap from its perch and eat my face.
LET THE RECORD REFLECT THAT I HAVE NOT KILLED IT, ATTEMPTED TO KILL IT, OR REPORTED SAID SPIDER TO THE AUTHORITIES SO THAT THEY’D COME KILL IT!
It was with pride that the spider had lasted for so long that I mentioned it to longtime family friend and spider advocate, Charlene, on her recent visit. Interested, she asked to be escorted to see the eight-legged fiend. Ever the hostess, I took her back on the golf cart.
“Oh, that’s a writer spider,” she said with glee. “You know, like Charlotte’s Web!”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her my true opinion of the children’s opus…
…and so I nodded politely instead.
“Oh, Abby, did you notice?” Charlene said with enthusiasm. “It looks like your spider friend has also laid her eggs! See the sack hanging there?”
It was at this point that the mild panic attack started: ears ringing, throat closing, skin itching. I allowed my gaze to follow Charlene’s pointing finger and saw, with horror, the tiny little egg sack hanging from the rain gutter above the web. “Oh, that’s nice,” I said, feigning normalcy.
“The cool thing is that when it hatches, the little babies will make little web parachutes and fly away on the breeze.”
Thanks for the science lesson, Charlene. Now, every day, when I drive my golf cart by the unit hosting the little Eight Legged Family, it goes a little something like this:
But at least I haven’t committed mass murder yet. That’s the definition of progress. Right?