in this new apartment i've killed two giant spiders. and i mean giant. not the boulder in your shoe type of giant. but honest to goodness giant. about an inch and a half to two inches.
last weekend the first spider crept out towards me from under the laundry pile i was folding. this teaches me one of two things. either fold the laundry sooner and don't leave it in a pile for a week or so. OR. don't do laundry. i'm going with the second. so the spider icks it's icky way towards me. i shriek in a totally dignified manner which startles the damn thing into beating a hasty retreat... into the sleeve of one of my hubby's sweaters. i weigh my options, shake out the sweater and chance having a spider land on my feet. OR... scream for the man to deal with it. i chose neither. i begin to bash the hell out of the sleeve. all while screaming "spider!" *bash* "spider!" *bash* "spider!" *bash* "SPIDER!!!" finally the man comes into the room. pushing me aside in a totally manlike manner. sweat glinting off of his bulging biceps. his long golden hair wafting in the breeze. his loin cloth stretched... "oh conan..." i gasp in a typically weak-femaled voice... wait. no. uhm.
anyway... spider bashed. husband comes in to the room and tells me to back off while he deals with it. he shakes out the sweater. out rolls the quite dead and thoroughly bashed spider. i am oh so pleased with myself at this point. i mean. i killed it. me. little me. all by myself. i gaze at him happily as he carts away my kill. surely he'll make it a trophy to hang above the mantle. an icon for us to gaze at in pride.
nope. into the bin it goes.
now, onto just this moment passed. the kitten is rolling around on the living room floor. intently focused on my purse. we assume she's engrossed in her own shadow which is the norm for her. i head to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. i walk back into the room. there, in a mexican standoff is the kitten and another giant spider. obviously this spider is here to avenge the savage bashing of it's kinsmen? kinswoman? kinspider. i can see the menacing glint in it's many eyes. i can almost hear it say, "ha-low, my name is in-eego manylegged, you bashed my fah-thar, pree-pare to die."
i gasp in fear. i contemplate tossing the water glass at it. my conanish, i mean couragous husband is miles away at the computer, listening to musak. he turns in my direction at the gasp. he see's the spider. he rises. just as he stands i grab my flipflop. position it above the icky critter. and mutter "you gotta ask yourself, do you feel lucky punk?... well, do you?" and i bash the living hell out of it.
okay, maybe it wasn't that dramatic. but i did kill it. i smooshed it under the flipflop. flipped the flop over to inspect the damage. then went quickly to the nearest chair. and stood on it until the husband had removed the remains.
yea. i am one kick ass spider killer.
i am. just ignore the fact that i am sitting in odd yoga poses in order to keep my feet off the spider infested floor.