The other night, a Facebook friend posted in his status that he’d smooshed a spider in his garage, only to have a hundred baby spiders shoot out in every direction. The mere idea of it gave me the chills, and I was hoping he was mistaken, that he was exaggerating, that there just wasn’t any merit to his post. Turns out, I had to see it firsthand to believe it.
For your sanity, in the hopes you can sleep tonight, I chose not to attach a photo of what these assholes look like.
Last night, I went in to the kitchen. After switching on the light (which is connected with a chain hanging from the ceiling, so I was already several feet in by the time I got to the light), a large, brown wolf spider froze in mid-scuttle to stare me down.
Bea was already asleep, so I tried not to scream (I am petrified of spiders), but thankfully Charlie heard my muffled ohmygodohmygodohmygods and came rushing in with a can of beer he’d just finished (leftover from our cookout, not something we normally have lying around). He hunched over the spider, which was glaring at me and calling me horrible names, I’m sure of it, then threw down the can of beer. Whereupon, a hundred baby spiders came rushing out in every direction.
For a split second, Charlie and I both looked at one another in horror — he is “creeped out” by spiders, as he puts it — before he began smashing all of them, barking at me to get a paper towel and some bleach or something. I sprayed the crap out of them while he continued to go after the mother and wipe up the babies.
[Let me also point out here that there is almost nothing about our apartment that would deter these creatures. Despite my feverish cleaning inside, it’s a 100-year-old house with bad siding, wood chips everywhere, tons of vegetation, trees, ivy, and about a bazillion little places for them to hide, inside and out.]
Immediately after our brutal encounter, I felt a mixture of disgust and guilt. Here we’d gone to extreme measures to murder a family of creatures whose only presence in our house was to eat insects; creatures that would otherwise prefer to leave us alone.
Then again, I’ve woken up in the past few weeks with no less than four (4) different wolf spider bites, three on my chest and one on my elbow, which means they’re biting in my sleep, when I should be the least amount of danger to them. My understanding, after an hour of frightened Google searching, is that they don’t tend to attack unless they feel trapped or threatened in some way.
In which case, leave me alone or I’m going to murder all of you bastards. I’m talking, pulling everything out of my room, ripping the shitty, hastily-applied baseboards off the walls, and bleaching the crap out of every nook and cranny in this place. I would rather deal with the bugs these assholes eat than the assholes, themselves. I couldn’t fall asleep until almost 2am because I kept feeling like something was crawling on me. I almost slept on the couch.
But please don’t let that deter you from coming to visit. Even with an apartment full of wolf spiders, I’m still lonely.