|Daddy, my brother, George, and me.|
No spiders were harmed in the taking of this picture.
But the area was scrutinized closely . . .
Provided they are on the opposite side of the room and in plain view so escape-age is entirely possible.
Or better yet, in an entirely different country.
Okay. Spiders and I don't get along.
It all started when I became conscious (ie. born) and lasted until . . . well . . . now.
As I grew, my persnickety-ness became more and more pronounced.
I would carefully shake out each shoe before I put it on. (I had heard that people in scorpion-infested parts of the world do this regularly. I thought it a good idea.)
Check clothes and coat pockets with a flashlight.
All the usual things one could do while getting dressed.
Because you never knew just where those little beggers would be hiding.
Once, when I was sitting, minding my own business in seventh grade English, I saw a spider climbing down the wall next to me.
I kept a wary eye on it.
You never know – with spiders.
It climbed slowly down.
And then scurried across the floor towards the person seated in front of me.
All senses were immediately put on alert.
A few minutes later, when something touched my leg, I leaped nearly seven feet into the air.
It's a school record.
You can look it up.
And so it continues to this day.
I do put on a brave face for my children and grand children.
Unfortunately, it looks like the one I wear all of the time, just a little more . . . tense.
Teeth firmly clamped around bottom lip.
That sort of thing.
Evil world-destruction plotting spider is approached cautiously and swatted firmly with a fly swatter.
Then beaten unrecognizable with whatever is at hand.
I admit it.
Humane disposal and me and spiders don't fit into the same sentence.
Oh. Wait . . .
It's probably a good thing I live where I do, spiders here are teensy.
In Greece, they have been know to carry off pets and small animals and the occasional tourist.
Remind me to tell you about it.