You should all know that it is half past five in the morning right now and, thanks to a giant diet Pepsi and a substantial adrenaline rush, I am literally twitching and constantly surveying every crevice of my basement bedroom. Let me take you back four years to my senior retreat in high school…
… which happened to take place not on a beach or in a “happening” location of any kind. We were deep in the African jungle. During the bus ride to our camp many of the girls expressed their horror at the thought of coming across any scary spiders. I, being the cocky and dismissive little brat that I can still be sometimes, turned up my nose and chastised their girlish and dramatic concerns. It was decided there and then that should they find a spider, which I was sure would resemble a good old british money spider (the size of this: O ), I would take care of it. I guess I made my oath too soon, because I obviously forgot the whole AFRICAN JUNGLE part. When the first trembling- slash- hysterical- slash- seconds away from unconsciousness- girl dragged me to her side, clinging to me tightly, eyes bulging, and outstretched arm pointing, I was prepared to remain calm and collected. In fact, I quite enjoyed the idea of being the fearless spider-fighter. But then I saw this:
To my detriment (as has been proved many a time) I am painfully prideful. I think focusing all my human power on NOT VOMITING in that moment was the single most hardest thing I have ever ever ever done. I did many things I am not proud of that night. All of those things involve 4 cans of bug spray, seven sneakers (NOT mine), a lighter, and a hairbrush (also not mine. She’ll never know.). Anyway, they called me the Spider-Slayer for the next 24 hours. I’ve never really been sure of whether or not it was worth it though.
FLASH FORWARD to a steaming hot night here in America’s finest desert- you’ll find me plopped on my bed, regrettably awake at such a late/early hour, flipping through VOGUE when, to my complete and utter HORROR, exhibit A (above) dashes across my bed! Well okay, scale it down a bit. It was more like a violin spider- which I will leave up to you to google because it’s that gross. I yelped because I didn’t have to show off to the rest of my high school graduating class.
I think being in a crisis by ones self is an appalling way to execute any sort of successful battle plan. I armed myself with what I could find: a glass (but I felt I had to down its contents first, all the while keeping an un-blinking eye on Spider 1), a can of hairspray (the Suave Professionals kind- really the best I have ever used FYI), and the latest Anthropologie catalogue (which I have not even had a chance to study yet). I will admit also that since I was alone, my language was atrocious.
Anyway: glass empty, eye on arachnid, I pressed on, squeezing a chorus of “ewmothereffersonofanewewew” under my breath when LOW AND BEHOLD my LEFT eye (which has a tendency to lead the other astray)pointed out that a SECOND violin MONSTER was crawling the walls! Cue waterfall of terror that consumed me from top to toe.
I made a split decision to forget number 2 for now and focus on number one, who was chilling out on one of my cushions. INCREDIBLY, through the chorus of cussings, a part of my psyche managed to convince me to reach for my camera. So I juggled my spider fighting kit in one hand and blindly grasped around for my camera with the other hand. Still un-blinking, I clicked a few shots in the general direction of the spider (I later found these shots to be useless blurred shots of the wall) and advanced.
STEP 1:trap spider in glass. Got it. STEP 2: slide book/ magazine under glass. I pulled out my Anthro catalogue and doused the cover in hairspray (to be on the safe side). During which time my psyche decided to remind me that I hadn’t yet even opened the magazine to begin with. I wrestled with myself. This was Anthro’s best dress season. What if there was something exquisite that I would be missing out on? What if something horrendous had decided to come back into fashion? This catalogue could prepare me for the travesty for the next few months! Spider started squirming in its glass prison.
“Just let me THINK!” I spat at him.
I resolved to tear off the front cover of the magazine. I slid it under the glass, did the spider flip (much like the pancake flip but much less elegant) and then, to top it off, I doused spider in an inch of Pepsi. Following which, I frantically searched the walls for Spider 2. He was nowhere to be found.
After I had disposed of Spider 1 (sink style), I searched for Spider 2. I pivoted around my room like I was playing center forward in a game of netball until I found him darting across my dresser. Behaving much like the chef in “The Little Mermaid,” I advanced on the little cretin:
Because I captured him on the carpet, the mere front cover of my catalogue was not enough to adequately enslave the little naughty. I deliberated for much longer than I really should have and finally resolved to very quickly flip through my magazine and rip out the pages I was really concerned with. I KNOW this seems silly, but I was NOT about to let this little devilcrawler ruin all the things I enjoy in my life EVER. And so it was. I repeated my Pepsi step and sink-treatment-ed his little violin arse.
Upon returning to my sauna of a bedroom, I then hairsprayed every last crack in the walls, every corner, every surface. I’m not entirely sure if that actually DOES anything, but I can tell you for sure that I’ll be spooning with my aerosol can tonight.