Spider-Killing

You may be wondering why I have not posted recently. Yes, I know what you're thinking. What could an ex-English student possibly be doing these days -- other than attending job training sessions, writing NCIS fan fiction, and baking delectable cornbread and not-so-delectable shoo-fly pie?

Ha ha! I shall tell you. I have been...

*must insert NCIS dialogue here*

Abby: "Can I at least get a drum roll?"
Gibbs: "Ta dah."
Abby: "Pathetic."

*ahem*

So anyway, I have been, drum roll please...Spider-Killing!

Yes, indeed, ladies and gentleman, the faithful two (or maybe three, my dear Hattie/Laura?) who read this blog, 'tis the season. It is hot and humid, and the spiders have all come out.

In case you didn't know, I am highly arachnophobic. Just ask Clair, lol.

Last night I looked up as I was brushing my teeth and saw a slender nondescript spider hanging upside down from its web on the ceiling.

"Spider...must...die!" I growled, finishing my tooth-brushing and deliberately laying the toothbrush on the sink.

I reached for the room spray. "Muahahahahahaha!"

A blast of chlorofluorocarbons (OK, I lie! The spray is from SC Johnson, a Family Company! They don't use chlorofluorocarbons!) and Fresh Ocean Mist scent assailed the spider, which afterward clung to its web for dear life and looked very wet and dazed.

"It's still moving? Grrrrrrr! More room spray!"

The spider dangled limply for a moment, then struggled feebly.

"It's STILL moving? Impossible!"

I looked around for something else to do battle with, and my vindictive eye fell upon the large red can of hair volumiser.

"Ha! Take that, Demon Spawn!" (That is my favourite name for spiders. Appropriate, yes?)

A fine white foam began to collect on the spider and its delicate web. However, it was still moving. Ah, the tenacity! The temerity! I was almost tempted to let it live.

*evil grin*

NOT!!!!!!!!!

"Hairspray!" I exclaimed, grabbing the metallic aerosol can and pressing the button, directing a spray of extreme stickiness at the spider, which was still wallowing in the white foam. The strong freeze-style action that holds so well in my hair immobilised the struggling arachnid after a few moments.

I imitated a 'roo and bounced around in a victory dance. OK, again I lie. I grimly stalked out to the kitchen and got the broom, sweeping the spider off the wall and then plucking it off the broom bristles with a crumpled-up piece of toilet paper.

Dropping the distasteful sodden wad of paper into the loo, I pressed the handle and flushed, with a high amount of satisfaction.

"Have a nice trip, Child of Satan!" (Another favourite term.)

And then today on the doorframe I saw one of those hideously built furry greyish spiders, the kind with eyes that see in every direction and a wholly repulsive way of scooting both forward and backward with equally unbelievable rapidity.

I grinned smugly, reaching for a paper towel. I learned a long time ago how to outsmart these brutes.

Tapping the fingers of my left hand on the doorframe in front of the spider to keep its attention, I used my right to sneak up behind the spider and nab it with the paper towel. Just as I struck, it lurched forward, but too late.

That one, too, took a prolonged voyage down the loo, otherwise known as the Spiders' Tunnel of Fun or the Insects' Waterslide. Kind of like the rides my family and I used to go on at Water Country.

One major difference, though -- the participants of these little games just happen to be dead. Or, if I'm feeling particularly sadistic, almost dead. It's great fun to toss a wildly struggling spider, wasp, or ant into the water, flush quickly, and exclaim in falsely saccharine tones, "Have a nice vacation, honey! Enjoy the water park!"

And no, before you ask, I feel absolutely no remorse. No guilt-trips whatsoever can induce me to feel pity for any of those loathsome vile creatures -- particularly the eight-legged ones. So don't even try.