8 legged beastie

Picture, if you will, a spider. Not just any spider. A huge Southern spider with long spindly legs and a fat segmented body. Now picture, if you will, two fully grown, capable adults screaming and carrying on like a couple of bitches. This was the scene at our house last night.

It started simply enough. I leaned out the sliding glass door to retrieve the puppies’ water dish. As I pulled back into the house, I saw it, dangling dangerously close to where my head had just passed. When it saw me see it, like a ninja, it plummeted down on its string. Somewhat still in shock from nearly ending up with that beast in my hair, I slammed the door shut.

I told [M] of my near fate as I filled the water jug. He laughed until I showed him the monster on the other side of the glass. Then a debate of the inherent duties based on genitalia ensued. Having the penis, he was nominated to terminate the threat.

Armed with a bottle of insecticide, back up with me clutching a sandal, he cautiously slid the door open. He stuck out only his arm and feverishly doused the eight legged devil with chemicals. Again, like a ninja, the spider dropped and swung itself towards the opening to the house. This is where the bitch screaming began. [M] slammed the door so hard that the sensor for the alarm popped off and flew across the room.

We stood, watching the spider through the glass. Not dying. It slowed down, yet it did not die. Repeatedly, [M] snuck his arm out to administer more death spray but to no avail. Unwilling to go outside and finish the job, we retreated to the basement to finish carving pumpkins.

The beast haunted us. [M] was fixated on the existence of the monster, twitching at phantom touches on his skin. Finally, he resolved that it had to die. Following a little more gender debate and the playing of the childbearing card, he armed himself with a bottle of spray bleach and a sandal and gave me the other sandal and permission to beat the shit out of him should he fall victim to spider attack.

The spider yet twitched. It would not die! We cracked the door slowly. With the bottle of bleach trained on the spider like a black ops soldier on a terrorist, [M] sprung outside, spraying all the while. He doused and doused the spider in bleach then pounded it with the sandal. It fell to the deck, finally separated from its web. Still not dead. [M] continued to rain bleach down upon it as he bashed it again and again until it finally was, indeed, terminated.

Some of the funniest shit I have ever seen.