Warning: If your name is Brittany Sciba and/or you are terrified of creepy crawlies and bugs, do not continue reading. You have been warned!
So this morning I got a call from Brian while I was at work. This alone is blog-worthy, because Brian never calls me before noon unless it’s to request permission to eat fast food for breakfast. Anyway, he informed me that he had just sent me an e-mail and that I had to open it while I was on the phone with him.
So I look at my inbox and see an e-mail from him entitled “Eek!” Assuming it was a picture of the dogs (most likely of them doing something stupid and/or destructive), I opened the e-mail. As I was opening up the attachment, Brian warned me not to freak out. That’s always encouraging. So I opened the attachment, and here is what was staring back at me:
My reaction went a little like this: “OH. MY. GOSH. WHERE did you find that? And please tell me you killed it. If that was anywhere NEAR our house then we have to move. Like seriously, we have to move. Because if it was near the house, I can never sleep again.”
Brian then proceeded to tell me that he found the furry little friend on our driveway when he was leaving for work this morning. When I asked what he did with it (hoping the words “killed” or “destroyed” would be included in his response), he told me that he scooped it up in a cup and took it to work. WITH NO COVER ON IT. Who does that?!
So there I sat, having just learned that not only is my house surrounded by gigantic, flesh-eating, furry spiders, but also that my husband is certifiably insane. What a way to start the week.
Anyway, upon my urging, Brian did a little research to find out what type of spider it was. He learned that it was, in fact, a tarantula. He told me that although tarantulas aren’t venomous, they still bite. In fact, I believe his exact words were: “He can’t kill you, but he can still hurt you. You know, all spiders bite.” Thanks, Brian, for that reassuring bit of wisdom.
He also told me that the only reason he had taken the picture and sent it to me was because he wanted me to know that THAT was a big spider, and by comparison, all of the miniscule little spiders that I scream bloody murder over in the house are no big deal. Apparently he is not familiar with girl logic which states that all spiders are scary, life-endangering, and disgusting.
Ultimately he decided to release the spider into the wild outside of the church. And please remember that our house is just one block from the church, so if that spider comes back to take revenge by eating my face during the night, I am going to be really angry with my husband.
Although I will admit that when Brian told me that he thought the spider was dying, I started to feel sorry for the little guy. And then my mom—typical female response—suggested that maybe the spider was a mommy spider looking for her babies. And somehow my rage toward the 8-legged friend subsided. Although I did suggest that the spider mommy pack up her babies and move to Mexico.
Anyway, I am officially never going to be able to sleep without one eye open ever again. I am going to hope that this tarantula-spotting was a freak one-time only occurrence brought on by daylight savings time. That’s rational, right?