I thought I had finally kicked my fear of spiders. Before I moved to England I would run screaming in the opposite direction if I saw a spider. I would avoid the scene of the spider spotting until Eric came home and "cleared the area". Now that I live in England (where there are actually more spiders than rain), I have actually learned to kill the small spiders all by my big self and to at least stifle my screams when the big ones come along.
Today it was one of the little one's, dangling from the upstairs ceiling, that invaded my territory. After eyeballing it from a safe distance, I decided it was small enough to kill. I got a softball sized mitt of toilet paper, assumed my battle stance, the Wyatt Earp music started playing, and I went in for the kill...the spider back flipped, rebounded off the wall, countering with a clever "spider into my hair" move. Screaming commenced. By the time my two startled children reached the top of the stairs, I was frantically stripping off clothes while shaking my hair, screaming like a little girl all the while. In between screams and shakes, I explained that a spider had gotten on me and I was trying to find him. Both kids ran into the bathroom to grab their own weapons, er, toilet paper. They immediately set to work, hunting for "dat 'pider who tried to get mommy". "Don't worry mommy, we will find that spider and flush him in the potty. You just go in your room and calm down", said my four-year-old. My sweet little ones are still upstairs, hot in pursuit of that rogue spider. I almost feel a little sorry for the guy once they find him. Almost.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
It always amuses me when the child becomes 'aware' of a parent. And when they get all helpful and concerned. Very cute. Very short-lived, usually.
Post a Comment