Brent vs. Nature

HOLY SHIT ginormous spider against the wall a foot away from my bed.

I’m not big on killing things, really. But damn damn damn do huge spiders that invade my living space need to die. My conundrum, however, is that the only thing that rivals my hatred of medium-plus-sized indoor spiders is having to kill them. The entire experience is a losing one, no matter what I do; I get chills up my spine either way.

Historically I’d get around this by letting my sister discover the spider, freak out, and get my dad to kill it. It’s more socially acceptable for females to behave in this way, it seems. My backup plan has been to vacuum them up (normally, not with tools—the idea being that the brush should do the job that I really, really don’t like doing), though Marin’s always hated that idea.

Those options were not viable tonight, as I no longer live with my family, and vacuuming at 2 am isn’t exactly de rigueur in an apartment building. Plus the fucker is literally a foot away from my bed (have I mentioned that?), so feigning ignorance and going on with life is just asking for trouble.

I’ve read that some spiders can bloody jump. ZOMG. That knowledge just makes everything worse—some things I am happier not knowing.

So I’m left sweating bullets, engaged in a cold war against this monstrous creature. He doesn’t bloody move, no matter what I do to try and spook him; perhaps he knows that the corner against the wall is more-or-less a safe zone.

Or, at least it was—until I constructed a crude spear out of an unused tension rod, a paper towel, and a rubber band. Sucker never saw it coming, though I sure as hell didn’t like doing it. Chills, man. I hate that.

I then figured I might as well vacuum the carcass up (tools being quieter than the regular vacuum, and the process taking all of three seconds)… so my room is now mine again. For the moment.

But, yeah. I’m pretty much a wuss when it comes to killing things.

 

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