I live in Southwest Florida. We have large insects and bugs. Tonight, as I was making my way in to the bathroom for a shower I was confronted with a huge, hairy spider the size of my hand. He was waiting for me, I could tell by his menacing countenance. Why else would a spider the size of a Buick bother to affix himself to the wall so he could easily jump on my legs as I innocently passed by?
Unfortunately, although I love my husband and he is 99% of the time a Prince Among Men, he is also a native of the state of California and a bit of a hip-pee. Oh yes, tree hugging, don’t waste things, turn off the lights, reuse Baggies, that kind of head-in-the-clouds California person. I am a Midwesterner, a pragmatic sort of person. We leave lights on because in the winter it’s dark from 4pm to 7am. I’ve worn a winter coat, mittens, and a wool hat to watch fireworks in July. And we don’t have huge spiders. They simply couldn’t survive the cold.
As I calmly (my screams might have broken glass except I never hit high C,) asked my husband to help with the spider, he ran to the kitchen. Why, I’m asking myself, is he going to the kitchen when the killer spider is in the bathroom. He comes back with a drinking glass and an envelope. He is going to trap the spider and put it outside. “Kill it! Kill it!” I shriek with dulcet tones. He chases the swift multi-footed beast into the bedroom where it runs under the furniture.
I have not had a good night’s sleep since. I expect to wake to find the spider splayed across my face. My loving husband, who has lost some of his hearing during my extremely loud efforts to get him to murder the bug, now knows what he must do the next time he sees a spider…or cockaroach. We also get quite large cockaroaches here in Florida. La cucaracha, la cucaracha. Ya no puede caminar.