Little Miss Muffet Strikes Again

I've got a house full of sleepers so I'll take a moment to tell you a little story.

Originally it was to be a story of triumph. It ends in defeat.

It is a story about a spider. Or three.

As frequenters of this site may already know, I am deathly afraid of spiders. It would be nearly impossible for me to fully describe to you just how afraid of spiders I am. I am willing to bet I am more afraid of spiders than almost all of you.

There is a spider living in my drivers' side wing mirror on my car. It usually minds its own business, and I have bravely continued driving my car. I believe I have taken extraordinary steps forward for this to be the case. In fact, I was living so amicably with this awful creature than I began to believe my phobia was diminishing.

Yesterday, as I reached for the handle of the passenger side door (to put Fifi in the car), I spotted a different spider dangling (augghhghh, I hate how they do that!) off the handle. My first impulse was to call my friends and tell them I couldn't make it to our weekly walk. But then I remembered I am brave now and not afraid of spiders anymore.

So I kicked it.

Folks, you cannot possibly know what a break-through this is for me. It might be the first time I have ever made contact with a spider willingly in my life. Yes, once* I had to brush one off my person, after it had most evilly crawled out of my handbag onto my lap, but you can see how that was utter necessity. I can't remember any other time in my life when part of my body willingly made contact with a spider.

The spider dropped a few centimetres but then scampered (gleehahhha) back up it's despicable web. I, of course, screamed and did a little boogy dance, but I wasn't defeated. I kicked it again, harder, and with a cry of 'GET OFF!' and it fell the ground. I think. I couldn't see it anyway. Which, of course, freaked me out and I did another dance and checked the bottom of my shoe and the leg of my jeans and the ground. I did not see it. But I rose above this predicament and opened the car door.

Victory!!

Later that evening, and a hot evening it was, I had changed into flip-flops and a dress and eaten my dinner at Scott's parents' house. His mum helped me with Fifi's things to the car. I reached for the door handle and... the spider was back! It had made a new web on the passenger side wing mirror and was crawling about on it. I rememebered my earlier bravery and considered kicking it again until I realised I was wearing flip-flops. Bare feet. Bare legs. Hell to the No.

'I can't!' I exclaimed. I began to panic. How was I going to get Fifi in the car? Just as I said, 'What are they doing, creating an army in there?', ANOTHER, LARGER spider crawled out! AUGHHHGHAHLDJ:LGKA:SKGJ:LSJDLSA¬!

And that's pretty much the sound of my scream.

Scott's mum, also afraid of spiders, said she would deal with it. She reached towards it, but before making contact, spotted two boys, in their early twenties walking by.

'Excuse me, guys, are you afraid of spiders?' she asked.

The boys squirmed. 'Uh, in what way?'

'Could you get rid of a couple of spiders for us?' she asked.

One boy courageously threw back his shoulders and approached the vehicle. The other held back. He reached for the spiders. I AUIGHLGHUUGHGHGHHed and danced again and Fifi started crying. He somehow disposed of them (or more likely, they crawled back in behind the mirror) and proudly proclaimed the task complete. Marion thanked them for saving three girls in distress.

That, my friends, is a sad, sad story. The sad, sad story of a woman who thought she could face her greatest fear, only to have to be rescued by a man.

Pity. Pity. It is such a pity.



*I have searched and searched my archives and cannot find this story. How did I not tell you about the time a spider crawled out of my handbag on the busy 5.00 train and I actually, literally, jumped into some guy's lap, crying??