Finally overcoming my laziness, I endeavored to tackle the slowly rising pile of blankets and clothes that has been accumulating in sedimentary layers near the foot of my bed. I was whipping up blankets to pack away, when I was shocked to discover a black leggy mass scurrying down the length of the quilt. It looked something like this, except more evil looking:
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| Actual size |
I yelped and dropped the blanket. The spider, to my utmost horror, used this momentum as an opportunity to propel itself off the quilt and crawl its creepy self right under my blankets. I rushed to get a wad of toilet paper, because obviously you can't touch a spider with your bare hands without risking certain death. Also, I tend to not kill spiders - I try to trap them in something and then throw them off my deck to fend for themselves, with the understanding that they had better not show up again, or they will be smooshed to smithereens. I generally don't mind spiders so much. They aren't my favorite little critter, but I like to preserve their lives if they live according to the Covenant that I've set down. The Covenant includes the following terms:
All spiders, especially those wishing to apply for citizenship to my room, must...
- Have a diameter not exceeding that of a nickel
- Be somehow not gross-looking enough that I can anthropomorphize them and name them something non-threatening like "Charlie," or "Chekles." (Chekles was the name of the one spider I allowed to stay for a while, before he breached the contract.)
- Be a normal color (black or brown)
- Remain where I can be aware of their presence, or else stay out of sight completely, in a way that does not allow me to become suspicious that they might be lurking in my living space.
- Never, under any circumstance, approach my bed.
I returned to my room - TP in hand - and cautiously peeked under the edge of my bedclothes, half expecting Mr. LegMonster to leap at me with fangs dripping. What met me was even worse than that: there was an absence of spider altogether.
Now, while on the surface this seems like an ok concept, anyone with a "thing" about spiders will agree that the thing that is worse than seeing a spider is not seeing one but knowing it's still there somehow. In this state of affairs, all you have to work with is a creepy-crawly sense that the spider is magicaly everywhere, that it's on the move, that it's on YOU, and there's nothing you can do about it!
Obviously this had to be stopped. The spider had to be found. I called the Bearded Man for moral support. No answer. After resolving that I wouldn't buy him Taco Bell for a week, I did the second-best thing and called my mom. She assured me that she and my dad would be home soon, and that Dad would help me deal with it.
A few minutes later, my dad returned, entering my room like a superhero, vacuum in hand. He started whipping blankets everywhere, as I screeched at him to do it carefully, because I have a weird phobia of spiders somehow getting tangled up in my hair, whichobviously happens. So, carefully, we began to comb through the remaining bedclothes, gingerly treating each article as if it was a biohazard. We went through each blanket, one after another, until only a sheet remained. Knowing this had to be it, I held up my tissue wad an anticipation. My dad lifted the sheet and....
Nothing. It wasn't there. We moved my bed away from the wall and scooped up articles of clothing from the floor... nothing. My dad vacuumed the carpet between my bed and the wall, hoping against all hope that maybe the spider would succumb to the sucking power of Good. About ready to call it a day, my dad said "It isn't under your pillow is it?"
Me, somewhat scornfully: Dad, I don't think it would have had time to....
My snarkiness was cut off with another quick "EEEEE!" as the spider, which was hiding under my pillow, in perfect position to get tangled in my hair made a run for the side of my bed. That's it. It had broken the Covenent. This spider would get no named existence in my room, free to live its spidery life among the bookcases. Nope. This guy wasn't even going to get the benefit of relocation to the World of the Deck. He had molested my most sacred pillow, in his deceit and creepiness, and for that he was going to get relegated to the Otherworld Hell Down the Vacuum Tube.
What followed was a blur of spider shenanigens, vacuum hose brandishings, and me yelling "THERE IT IS! THERE IT IS!" The story ends how was fated to end from the beginning, when the spider decided to betray my trust and hide under my blankets.
All that's left now is a dissembled room, messier than it was before. I guess that's what you get for trying to get things done.
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