Friday, August 24, 2012

Battle with Gigantors

I, like I assume 99% of the universe, hate spiders. Haaaate them. And I know they are good in some way, like eating a lot of other bugs. But really? I don't have a problem with other bugs. Spiders are pretty much the worst for me. I think I'd rather find (harmless) snakes in my house. I mean at least you can keep an eye on those. If you don't kill a spider when you have the chance, it disappears and then you have to spend the next four days or so worrying where he's going to pop up again.

I wish I wasn't afraid of spiders, like my husband. 

I'm all, "Ohmygod, ohmygod get down here right now right now right nowwwww. Quickly please, really quick!"

He's all "why?"

"There's a spideerrrr!" Voice shaking, heart racing, goosebumps.

He's all- move as slow as you possible could in a life and death situation like this. Then he just smacks them with his bare hand. Even if it's one of those big, meaty ones ("That was a juicy one," he'll say.)

It's totally great to have him around. Except I think all the spiders issue some sort of alert when he leaves the house. Rambo has left the building!

Last week I was cuddled up in the couch under a blanket. I got up to rearrange the blanket, fluffed it up and out creeps gigantor. He's looking right at me, ready to kill. So while maintaining eye contact (I would have had to move and get all new things if I lost track of this one) I grabbed Henry's toy guitar and went all BAM BAM on his butt. Henry was laughing at my squeals. And then he went up to him and smacked him a few more times with his toy remote. Like we were playing some sort of funny game. 

Here's hoping he takes after Mark.

I left that one on the blanket and Henry and I played upstairs until Mark could get home to dispose of the body. Even he was impressed with it's size.

So then later that same day, there was another Gigantor hiding under one of Henry's toys in the bath tub. As in, where I shower. I drowned that one. Then poured some chemicals and really hot water down the drain because I was worried that maybe I didn't kill him and he would come up from the drain and attack me. (I took a picture of this one. But I am purposely not posting it because then I have to look at it.)

Now I don't mind killing a spider now and then. It's inevitable, unless, I imagine, you move somewhere that is extremely cold all time. Which may be worth it, but I don't think my family would be on board. But the occasional spider is usually sort of wispy, or small, and I can totally handle that. But these spiders were huge and brown and freaking scary. I have goosebumps thinking about them as I'm trying to come up with the best adjectives.

I totally called Orkin. And I hadn't seen a spider since. Orkin tells you if you do, they will come right back out. And they probably will regret that statement, because so help me I will call them every freaking day. 

Cue this morning. There was another Gigantor waiting for me, trying to be all sneaky and blend in with the carpet. He was stock still, and I thought maybe I got lucky and he died of a heart attack. So I do what you should never do and I blew on him. Cue creepy spider escape. I grabbed the guitar again (so handy!) and smashed him as I listened to Henry laugh.

And then maybe 20 minutes later there was an already dead one under a rug in the kitchen. It could also have been a clump of dirt with 8 strategically located legs, but let's be honest, I'm not getting that close. I'm thankful he was already dead, but what if I crushed him with a bare foot? Ugh.

Orkin's coming Monday. I'm trying to look on the bright side for now. In the battle with the Gigantors it's 4-0 in my favor. 

And in the meantime, I am totally open to any tricks to keep my house spider free. Ready, go!

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