And You Thought You Were Faint-Hearted!

Mom hates spiders. I mention this because I don't think it's entirely my fault--my feelings toward spiders, that is. Seriously. Mom hates spiders so much, that a spider actually delayed my arrival into the world. That was because Mom saw a dead spider while she was in full-blown labor with me and it caused her adrenaline level to shoot up and shut down her labor. It's a beautiful world--I guess I'm allowed to dislike the creature bold enough to delay my entrance into it.

The other night, I walked in the house shortly after midnight. It felt rather like the night before Christmas--not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. I headed quietly downstairs, set my stuff down, and turned around to see....

It.

It was a big one. So large, in fact, that my first reaction was to look more closely and make sure it was not one of those fake spiders--the ones my brothers sometimes like to use to get a reaction out of me.

It wasn't.

It was very real. Fortunately, it was also sitting very still which gave me fifteen minutes to unload my car and give some good, serious thought to my options. Finally, everything unloaded, I stood in the middle of the floor to face up to facts and make a decision. I considered my three options.

a) Denial. Let the spider live, hoping that either he would wander away and NEVER be seen again or stay there all night so someone could kill him in the morning. Better yet, maybe he could just die...all on his own.

I realized the impracticability of this option almost immediately. A good night's sleep was on the top of my priority list at the moment. A good sleep and coexistence with a spider are mutually exclusive for me. Besides, how would I live with the wondering when every door was opened or paper turned over if a spider would jump out? Unfortunately, my practical side refused to consider it a real possibility that he would stay in one place all night...or die on his own. I proceeded to option 2.

b) Aggression. Kill the spider.

I have killed a spider or two in my time. But it at least takes courage and usually some very convincing external motivation. For example, a needy camper at summer camp.... No screaming camper seemed likely to appear at twelve-thirty in my quiet Christmas-eve-ish sort of house and the only internal motivation I could come up with was wanting the spider dead. Not enough to face those spider-eyes of his. Any further doubts I may have had as to my levels of courage were swept away when the spider started to move. He looked bigger, moving. And what if he came running towards me when I went to kill him?

c) Cowardice. Wake someone up to kill the spider.

I hate to inconvenience anyone, but...well, it all came by process of elimination. I woke Paul up. He deserves a medal for good-humor (and bravery?). I don't know what I deserve, but it's nothing particularly complimentary.