Stumbled out of bed, into the shower, out of the shower. Got dressed. Stumbled into the kitchen, pulled the bacon out. Found a brown widow sitting in her web on my kitchen counter. Set the bacon down. Commenced panic attack.
First order of business: Tweet that shit.
Second: Take photos.
This is how I roll.
And then I stood there for 38 minutes weighing my options. That’s normal. Right?
Move out, leaving all my possessions behind, and never come back. Not really feasible. I have lots of stuff. I like my stuff. I don’t want to leave it behind. Also moving is a lot of work and I’m rather lazy.
Call the landlord and a) beg him to kill it and b) prove to him that brown widows not only exist but that spiders do, in fact, come in through windows. It’s way too early to have to deal with his bullshit. Also when he says he’ll be over in “ten minutes”, it usually translates to “next week sometime”.
Smash it. Impossible. I can’t smash spiders. If I use something like a hammer I miss (and break the counter), if I use my hand, I require heavy sedation and therapy to recover from the emotional trauma of feeling their body “pop” in my hand.
Set it on fire. Not only do I not need to come within six feet of the spider, but I also don’t need that plan to backfire resulting in a deadly, flaming spider running around the house and coming after me.
Vacuum that bitch up. Only that’s another plan I don’t need to backfire on me.
Hot glue. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost all sanity at this point.
Move out and never come back. Oh. Already covered that.
This was pretty much me:
And that’s roughly what those 38 minutes looked like, interspersed with an occasional whine or whimper, or the kids running around screaming, “WE’RE ALL GANNA DIIIIEEEE!”
And then I spied a box of unopened Kleenex. Puffs, actually. And in a fit of sanity and bravery (that is probably an oxymoron) I grabbed the box and slammed it down on top of the spider. LIKE A DAMN NINJA.
And then I stood there for a few more minutes wondering if it was safe to peek.
It was. She was quite dead.
TAKE THAT, DEADLY WIDOW! I AM THE QUEEN OF SPIDER KILLING! I RULEZ! YEAH! YEAH!
And then I asked Margie to throw the tissue box away for me.
But in yet another fit of sanity and bravery, I envisioned yellow yarn (which is, apparently, the antithesis of squashed venomous spiders) and chanted, “Yellow yarn is really quite lovely,” and peeled the lid off (because she’d had the decency to be squished right on the part you tear away, rendering the rest of the box TOTALLY FINE) and threw it away. Like a damn ninja.
And then, just for good measure, I sprayed down the counter with disinfectant.
And you know what, my internet friends? All this before coffee.