The Sliding Scale of Terror

It’s an election year. Everybody hates everybody and nobody hates anything more than I hate politics. But I believe, with all my heart, that there is one piece of common ground we can all find. A place where we can all finally agree. A utopia of like-mindedness. A little place I like to call, The Absolute Hatred of Spiders.

And if you don’t agree, you can get the fuck off my blog.

Because spiders suck. They’re gross and ugly. They’re shifty and nefarious. They are conniving bitches who will eat the last cookie and think nothing of polishing off your best scotch. In short, they are total assholes. Allow me to explain…

Once upon a time, we bought a new house. A lovely house with many windows, including a nice big window over the kitchen sink. A window that some clearly deranged spider decided to build a web in. (Exhibit A: Spiders show no respect for personal property. They are hooligans.) So I vacuumed up the unattended web and figured the spider would get the hint and move on. As it turns out, spiders aren’t good with subtlety. She built another web right back where the old one was literally overnight. (Exhibit B: Spiders have vampiric tendencies. Not the sexy kind.) I was mightily displeased and thus began a vicious turf war on my windowsill. Everyday I would clean up this web and EVERY night the spider would rebuild it and go into hiding during the day. The strain of the situation began to wear on me. I would stumble bleary-eyed into the kitchen each morning to assess the damage and spew curses when I saw the web of defiance. Finally there came a day when I saw the icky rebel in action and I killed her. Or at least I thought I did. Until the next morning when I walked into my kitchen to see one long strand of web spanning from the ceiling to the counter, right across the kitchen sink. It shimmered in the morning sun, a delicate and indisputable “Fuck You”. So I totally snapped, filled my cabinets with C4 and blew up the entire kitchen in a fit of fiery rage. Actually, no. But I was really pissed and wrote a very long and strongly worded email to a dear friend who had the good grace not to make fun of me. You’ll be relieved to know that I prevailed and the spider did eventually meet her demise. You’ll also be relieved to know this paragraph is finally over.

So, perhaps you now understand how truly awful spiders are and how I may just have a smidge of the PTSD where arachnids are concerned. Perhaps you will also understand how the following announcement struck fear into my very core.

It’s about 6:45am. The Hubs and I are in our bathroom getting ready for the day.

Max walks in and says, “Mommy! There’s a spider in your room! A big, wriggly one!”

Time stood still. The Hubs and I looked at each other and began doing that silent communication thing that couples do:

Hubs: “Don’t freak out!”

Me: “OH MY GAWD I’M FREAKING OUT!!!!!”

Hubs: “Why don’t you have a prescription for Xanex?!”

Me: “WHY DON’T I HAVE A PRESCRIPTION FOR XANEX?!?!?”

Etc.

Armed with shoes and an intense longing for prescription drugs, we went into our bedroom to assess the situation. There was no spider to be seen. Which could only mean one thing; he was the kitchen spider’s unstable ex-boyfriend coming to exact revenge on us in the most painful way possible starting with psychological warfare. Obviously. And it worked. Because on the Sliding Scale of Terror this falls precariously close to the “All Music Other Than Nickelback Has Been Destroyed” end of the spectrum.

Let’s all take three cleansing breaths to release that horrifying idea back into the ether.

I lived the next 36 hours in a state of high alert. I was like Jason Fucking Bourne up in here. I carried a weapon on my person at all times. I regularly patrolled my bedroom and at long last my vigilance was rewarded. I saw The Target, went into cardiac arrest, located The Target again, hyperventilated, looked at The Target some more, thought about sealing off the room and waiting for The Hubs to come home, checked to make sure The Target hadn’t moved, girded my loins and finally killed the bastard. Death by flip-flop. Booyah. Then I tried not to puke on myself as I destroyed the evidence and framed the next door neighbor for the crime. You can never be too careful. Spiders are vengeful beasts.

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2 thoughts on “The Sliding Scale of Terror

  1. Bwahaha! You had me at “Because on the Sliding Scale of Terror this falls precariously close to the “All Music Other Than Nickelback Has Been Destroyed” end of the spectrum.”

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