Spiders

The one thing I can’t handle about being single is having to kill my own spiders. Today there was a uniquely patterned jumping spider waiting to get inside my front door. First I tried to take a picture of him with my phone because it was so unbelievable in size and color- stocky with a bright orange butt. But then he started to move and I realized this was a serious time, not a photo opportunity. I picked up a gardening glove and whipped at him with it… and missed completely. He hardly flinched. I grabbed a hand trowel and swung- missed again. He dropped to the ground in front of me, or so I thought. Seconds later I realized he had jumped, and would jump again. Dear God, jumping spiders. I’m not sure there’s anything more terrifying in this world. Whose brilliant idea was it to give such frightening creatures the ability to jump about? I saw him disappear under a flower pot. I picked it up and didn’t see him. The clever thing was clinging to the bottom of the pot. I banged it on the ground until he let go, and sat there, waiting for my next move. I stepped on him. He was shockingly juicy.

Right now there’s a tiny spider on my kitchen ceiling. His small stature is one of the very few reasons he’s still alive, as he has been for days. I saw him on my ceiling yesterday, but ceiling spiders present a very difficult problem. I could easily pull up the stool and hit him with my sandal, but my track record for being able to hit what I swing at would only ensure that the spider would drop straight down onto my head and cause an outright panic and possible heart attack. I can’t risk having a spider fall on my head so he’s still alive until he moves onto a wall or I figure out a way to approach the situation.