Eight Legged Creeps

I am positive that I am not the only one who has a phobia in general and I can’t possibly be the only one afraid of creepy crawlies with eight legs. I don’t mind normal bugs at all, anything with 6 legs and less are usually in my good books. It is when the eight legged varieties crawl out of their little hiding places to spook me into near hysterics that I can’t stand. I am not sure why they bother me so much, it can’t possibly be that it was my brothers goal as a kid to collect as many as he could and toss them on me. That would only make too much sense.
Even as a young adult, the thought of one of those arachnids crawling within 50 feet of sends shivers down my spine. The most memorable encounter happed a year or so ago when I was in school in the city. I usually came home every weekend to work on the farm as well as my weekend job. It was fall and prime time for bar-b-q’ing big old steaks for supper, hence the main attraction of coming home Friday nights. My dad was on route to start the BBQ when he walked right through a horrendously big spider web in the doorway to the deck. Thinking nothing of it, he proceeded to drop the steaks on the hot grill and I’m assuming he was contemplating life when he felt a little tickle on his neck. This folks, is where I would have probably passed out. He reached back and pulled part of the web that was still stuck in his hair up and over his head. In doing so, he came face to face with the biggest spider he had ever seen.
Now a normal person would have dropped the spider and surely done a little jig atop his beady little head, but not my father. My father indeed proceeded into the house to rustle up a container to put this spider the size of a golf ball into, to show Krystyn when she got home of course. Knowing well enough that I might sure require medical attention shortly after laying eyes on it, and if not me, him.
About half an hour later, my long two hour drive finally came to an end and I got out of the truck only to smell the delicious aroma of BBQ’ed bovine. Life was good, until I crossed the thresh hold into my worst nightmare. Moments after I drop my basket of laundry to be washed, Dad posed the question, “Guess what I did today?”. Thinking he probably mastered his latest crusade to eliminate boring old toast from his morning meal, I decided to humor him and asked “what?” I do not remember a lot of what happened next, as traumatic things tend to store themselves in a scattered array in ones mind. I will tell you what I do remember. As the question floated away verbally unanswered, a big, clear container with a lid was thrust up into my view. This is where things get a little hazy, I am pretty sure my sandals were not the best choice to run in, but I did so anyway.
I did not make it very far as I was cornered up on the arm of the couch moments later. I then decided that it was not quite as scary in the container, but that was still probably the most startled I have ever been. As my dad walked away giggling, I pulled myself together and followed him back out to the kitchen. He proceeded to tell me the whole story, explaining that his plan worked out beautifully. The container was set back on the kitchen island and no more was said about it.
After a wonderful steak supper my dad and I were sitting in the living room telling stories about what happened throughout the week. At my side as always was my German Shepard/border collie/retriever cross dog, with her ever present slobbery tennis ball in her teeth. After she gave up on trying to convince me to play her favourite game, she decided to harass dad with the idea. He gladly obliged, tossing the ball a few times into the far corner of the living room, essentially trying to wedge the ball into a place she can’t reach. Finally he grew tired of the game, telling the dog this was the last time he was going to throw it. He picked up the ball and tossed it towards the far corner, but completely missed, banking the ball off the fridge and somewhere into the kitchen. A half-second later, something crashed onto the floor and rolled under the table. Busted, mom was gonna flip when she found out he had knocked something, probably important, onto the floor. The dog happily retrieved the ball and proceeded to sprawl out on the floor, simply exhausted from the game.
About half an hour later, dad brought to my attention that we need some popcorn for dessert. He ventured out into the kitchen, turned on the light and exclaimed “Uh Oh”. Knowing this is never a good thing to say out loud, a whispered “what?” He creeped into the door way holding the clear container in one hand, the lid in the other and proceeded to tip both upside down, illustrating that our captive had been set free.
I demanded to know where the spider was, leaving dad in stitches of laughter, as he couldn’t believe how perfect this scenario was. He got down on the floor to look around, really accomplishing nothing in my eyes, as the spider was still roaming free somewhere. He then proceeded to explain to me that he was far to tired to keep looking and it will “surely show up”.
Since both my brother and I have “moved out” both of our bedrooms have been utilized as “better uses of space”, so I slept on the couch when I came home on weekends. Though I contemplated staying up the entire night on lookout duty, I finally decided that sleep is kind of important in my situation. The next morning mom called me at work to tell me that she had disposed of the spider, which she found wedged between the stove and the dishwasher. Her next question was why did I sleep with a can of Raid and a baseball bat? My response, who wouldn’t?