They Know Not What They Do to Me

Yesterday in the twilight of a rainy evening, I stepped out onto the deck and into the threads of a web hanging from the pergola near the table. I brushed them off and walked to the other side of the table where I again felt the tiny whisper of another gossamer strand.

Feeling annoyed that spiders seemed to be making themselves a bit too comfortable a bit too close to me, I brushed this one off too, only to look up and discover that the creature who had woven this particular labyrinth was the size of a big toe, and striped.

Oh, how I hate spiders. I ran into the house, slamming the screen door behind me. I spent a good part of the evening writing at the kitchen table, and, I can't deny, worrying about the Arachnidian goings-on from which only a flimsy screen protected me.

I needn't have worried about the happenings on my deck. By this morning, he was no longer there; no, he was in my house.

I was still thinking of him this morning when I went downstairs to open the deck door; I gazed outside to see if he were still hanging from the pergola. Funny how things are so relative - once I realized that he was underneath the overhang of my kitchen cabinet, I realized that I would have been so happy if he were only on my pergola, in fact, I would have rejoiced his presence anywhere outside the limits of my walls. He had captured some other little insect and was either devouring it or getting ready to, I didn't stick around staring long enough to find out.

So, I panicked, paralyzed. It was only slightly after 7:00 a.m. and David was already gone for the day. I knew I had to call in reinforcements, but who? I called my neighbor Steve and his wife Jayne answered the phone; Steve was at work, but she would come over - it was worms that bothered her, spiders she could handle.

She came armed with yellow jacket spray and a Swiffer duster on a long handle. We laughed when we saw each other and I apologized all over myself, highly embarrassed at my blatant inability to handle life's interruptions. She sprayed the offender and swept him outside, promising me that he was dead and would no longer bother me.

I am still having trouble going into the kitchen, two hours later. I know I am ridiculous, that the spider is no longer there, threatening my sense of well-being; still, like a victim, I feel unable to return to the scene of the crime.