Late the other night, as I'm turning off lights and shutting doors around the house, I glance inside the dark guest bathroom, and see the outline of a GIGANTIC spider against the white porcelain of the sink. It was a monster. I yelped and danced for Chris to come. He took a look, then procured his weapon of choice- the formidable 2nd Edition of
Critical Heart Disease in Infants and Children. I stepped out of the way.
The bathroom is long and narrow, so Chris had to shut the door to really get a good walloping radius, and for a while all I could hear were loud bumps and clanks and curses coming from the bathroom. Eventually the door swung back open and Chris emerged, breathing heavily, glasses askew. "I need something different."
"You mean it's still alive?" I squeaked. He didn't answer as he headed for the shoe basket, and I ran to the kitchen cupboard to find something, anything, with a spray nozzle. We headed back to the bathroom, and relocated the spider. I was reluctant to even enter the bathroom (what if the spider got between me and the door? Is there any scientific evidence that Thai cleaning products will even slow down a spider of this caliber?), but now I didn't completely trust Chris to finish the job.
With me screeching and jumping in and out of the bathroom, Chris waded into battle. His flip-flop swung like Thor's hammer, over and over. I squirted the whole scene with a fine mist of Mr Muscle. At one point I saw a spider leg go flying through the air, and I realized we might be winning. Eventually (and it took a WHILE), the spider stopped moving, and Chris and I hugged each other, just grateful to have survived, together.
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| Gah. |
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| Implements of destruction. |
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| Aftermath. That's a leg in the way back and another in the foreground. |
