One day he’s kind of scooting around, not getting more than three feet from his starting spot, and the next day he’s taking off across the room like a champ. Amazing.
Oh wait, that’s just the swarm of spiders literally crawling up my leg.
I received a call yesterday from my loving wife who pleasantly informed me that there were dozens of little spiders crawling over couch cushions, the fireplace, the walls, pretty much all over the first level of our home.
Lovely.
We’ve had spiders in the past, mostly limited to the garage, and I left them alone. They provided a nice service for us in capturing all the *other bugs* that might make their way inside, and in return, I let them work my territory. It was a symbiotic mafia-style relationship. I never talked about the spiders with Courtney, and they continued to indisciminately kill any outsiders that came onto my turf. I let them be.
We never saw more than one or two inside the house, so a call to the exterminator was never necessary. When the occasional monster would pop out and scare the bejeezus out of Courtney, I would dutifully stomp out its life all over our garage floor.
Apparently, the spiders didn’t like me whacking one of their own, and planned their revenge. Nothing will put the fear of God in an arachophobic woman like a swarm of spider foot soldiers in the house. Well played, mafia spiders, well played.
Unfortunately for them, our response to their disloyalty was a little harsher than usual. We decided to go to the mattresses yesterday, and the problem was “taken care of”. We have a new partner in crime, and his name is Orkin.
