Anyone who knows me knows that I am deathly afraid of spiders. Like, truly terrified. I fully realize my overwhelming dread of these tiny insects is completely irrational, but it’s a phobia, so that’s permitted.
Kevin, on the other hand, thinks spiders are great because they survive by killing other (presumably more destructive) bugs. So, when I point one out to him (so he can kill it), he, much to my dismay, will insist on carefully picking it up on a piece of paper to transfer it outside.
Here’s an accurate depiction of what I look like every time Kevin goes on one of these “relocation” missions:
Of course, as you can probably guess, the majority of the time, these
dumbass misguided attempts end with the spider falling off the paper and running all over the house causing me to instantly go all “Tom Cruise – Furniture Jumper” while stringing together an impressively long list of curse words directed at the love of my life.
And yes, I also sound like Beaker during these episodes. All high pitched indecipherable screaming….
Anyway, as we were driving to the grocery store in the Xterra the other day, windows down and chatting, my heart stopped when I looked over past Kevin at the passenger side mirror and saw a massive spider hanging onto a web it had built between the outside mirror and the passenger door.
Friends, listen to me, this spider was like nothing you’ve ever seen. Remember those old hippie Volkswagon buses? This thing….
Now add 8 legs.
Seriously. Not even exaggerating. This thing was ENORMOUS.
Of course, Kevin – being a boy – decided to try to knock the spider off its web. As we were driving. My requests for him to please not mess with the thing that scares me more than death itself while I was driving 40 miles per hour fell entirely on deaf ears. All I could think of as we drove along was that this aircraft carrier sized nightmare bug was gonna get sucked into the car causing me to panic and drive us into a tree. Luckily for all of us (but mostly Kevin because I would have murdered him if the spider landed on me), the nightmare bug ran back into the space behind the mirror to hide.
Once we got to our destination we discussed our options. I suggested calling 911. While I was sure Ladder 1 would be slightly confused by the initial call for service, I was convinced they would understand this was a true humanitarian crisis when they saw this thing. Plus, firefighters climb trees to save cats and crap; the least they could do was kill a bug for me.
Unfortunately, Kevin was unconvinced by my arguments. However, much to my surprise, he suggested we just light the car on fire. Turns out he’d seen this damned thing and actually concurred with my opinion that it was no normal spider and needed to be ended.
Now, I realize you might think I’m nuts, but if a spider is big enough to get Kevin thinking about arson, you know it is not of this earth.
Anyway, we eventually decided that lighting the car on fire in broad daylight in the middle of a grocery store parking lot was not the best idea, but Kevin couldn’t get him to come out of his hiding place behind the mirror, so we drove home keeping all eyes on the passenger mirror and none on the road. Luckily, people in Maine have impressive reflexes and were able to jump out of our way as we careened on and off the sidewalk.
The following day, I went to check the car and sure enough, there was our Volkswagen sized friend making himself comfortable in his new, expanded residence. He’d built a tennis court and a swimming pool. He’d named it “Xterra-a-Lago.” It was really quite lavish.
I brought up the entirely reasonable option of getting a shotgun and shooting the car. Kevin ignored me and returned to his plan of knocking the spider off his web which, he theorized, would cause the spider to run off into the grass. Kevin is insane. But it didn’t matter. Before he could even get close, the spider scurried back to his fortress of solitude leaving his tiny spider sized martini next to the poolside lounger he’d been occupying just moments before.
Kevin’s response? “Oh well,” and off he went, back inside the RV.
At that moment, I went all #NeverthelessShePersisted and decided it was time to woman up and handle this like my inner bad-ass suggested. No, not by crying, but rather by sawing off the entire mirror with a chainsaw. But I don’t own a chainsaw because I live in an RV. And also, “self inflicted chainsaw damage” is not an option on my Geico “Report-Your-Catastrophe” app. So, instead, I grabbed the bottle of bug poison I carry around with us and sprayed him.
And sprayed him.
And sprayed him.
And sprayed him.
Dude was like the Rocky Balboa of the Arachnid world. He would. not. die. And not only would he not die, the bug spray was like spider steroids!
He went flying down his web and hovered over the ground like Spider Mission Impossible…
then he zoomed back up the web and crawled around the mirror like some drug addled stoner. He jumped down on the ground and ran to the right before running to the left. Everywhere he went, I coated him with spider cyanide, but no matter what I did, he just kept going. Eventually I sprayed so much, he was laying in a pool of liquid poison.
That’s when he started swimming.
Ever see a spider do the back stroke? Of course you haven’t because that’s absurd. Right up until you meet this 8 legged Michael Phelps. Then you’re all: “Wow! 8 legs does make that a lot more efficient, huh?”
After a couple laps in the Olympic sized pool of toxic stew I’d created for him, he eventually stopped moving.
Only to flip over, look up at me and taunt, “That all you got??”
I sprayed him some more. He kicked up several legs in unison like he was the Rockettes. I sprayed him again. He flipped over and gave a little shake. The fucking spider was twerking.
At this point I was truly concerned. While keeping an eye on what was apparently an honest-to-god zombie spider, I texted Kevin and told him the spider was refusing to die. Kevin helpfully suggested that the spider was gonna be really pissed now and come after me in my sleep.
Kevin’s the worst.
Running out of poison and running low on hope, I begged the bug to just die already.
Finally…finally…. Three quarters of a bottle of Extra Strength Orkin Bug-Be-Gone later, he stopped moving. I noticed he still had one leg pointed toward the sky, I assume the spider equivalent of flipping me the bird in one last act of defiance.
I gave him a couple extra sprays for good luck and then went inside…
…Then came back outside 3 minutes later because I was convinced he was just playing dead, part of a masterful ploy to stage a sneak attack, like Washington crossing the Delaware on Christmas…. but with less artillery and it would just be a spider.
Luckily, he appeared to still be dead. The sad remains of a once legendary evil. I gave him a head nod. “Nice fight, buddy. I’m gonna spend the rest of my natural life popping Xanax by the handful because of you, but you fought hard. Valiant until the end. And now, everyone will know your story. Because for all of eternity, or until we forget to pay our web hosting service, the story of what you did here today will be on an RV travel blog on the internet.”
Legends never die.
- Featured image courtesy of Peter Miller on Flickr.