There will be no pictures in this particular post.
Cause while these things scare the bejeesus out of me, I can look at pictures without a panic attack. But some of my online friends cannot.
And screwing with someone’s phobias is mean. Don’t do it.
Anywho. I don’t like bugs and other creepy crawlies. There are exceptions, of course. Lady bugs are adorbs. I rather enjoy pill bugs too, cause they’re cute.
But as a general rule, I have issues with anything that has more than four legs.
The ultimate in creepy, crawly things that will make me scream like a little girl = Spiders. These things aren’t of this earth. I’m absolutely certain they are some sort of alien spy, figuring out our weaknesses and plotting the invasion and ultimate enslavement (read: making us food) of the planet.
I watch that one part of LotR with my hands over my eyes, or I just get up and wander out of the room for a minute.
There’s a reason for this!
When I was nine, we were living in a rural place that just begged for child eating critters to sneak in and nom my limbs in my sleep. There was always something with too many legs hanging around. I coped okay, stomping upon them with extreme prejudice. Until…
My bathroom was all tile and the shower took up a whole wall. Not like a shower/tub combo. A huge open shower, with a little wall to shield it from the rest of the bathroom. It was also slightly sunken, so that I didn’t flood the bathroom every time I showered. Incidentally, it was also pink and this might have something to do with my aversion. Just saying.
I was innocently showering one evening. All lathered up and bubbly. MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS!! And over there, against the far wall, a huge spider decided to take its evening constitutional. In. My. Bathroom.
I usually have a live and let live policy here. I don’t bug the critters, as long as they stay in their area, which is NOT IN THE HOUSE. Once they set multiple legs inside, I have the right to smoosh.
So, of course, I smacked it with a shampoo bottle.
That really should have been the end of things, and I lived happily ever after, blah blah blah.
The little bastard BURST spewing millions of baby spiders all over the wall and floor. And if that isn’t enough to cause terror in the heart of any child, I don’t know what is. Unless of course it’s Tim Curry crawling out of a freaking drain. But that’s a whole different post.
There I was, huddled in the corner farthest from the nasty spider invaders, screaming like I was being murdered. My grandparents came running in to see who was killing me. My grandfather (obviously a very smart man) took one look at the spiders, did an about face, and hauled ass out of the bathroom, leaving my grandmother to dispose of the eight-legged terrors and calm the screaming child.
I can’t really blame him. I’d have run and left me to die, too.
So there you have it folks. I will scream like nobody’s business over a spider. Fake spiders. Real spiders. Spider pictures. You name it, I need a flamethrower to kill it.
How about you?