The Curious Incident Of The Spider In The Night

Question: What’s worse than a rain spider on your clothes cupboard on a Saturday morning?

Answer: No rain spider on your clothes cupboard on Saturday afternoon.

And this is how the week from hell started – with a brown 8 legged creature of death chilling on my cupboard, then on my clothes and then *poof* gone. I was alone last weekend and had no other choice but to avoid walking past or opening said cupboard for the entire weekend. In-fact, the only time I decided to brave going in there was last night when I was getting my outfit ready for work the next day. It’s dark when I get ready in the mornings you see – and quite frankly the only thing worse than not finding the rain spider where you left it, is finding it in the sleeve of your shirt.

But of course the husband was out again (I’m sensing a trend here, readers). Despite him being absent, I decided that short of wearing only bottoms to work I had to at one point venture into my shirt cupboard. This is how the drama of the curious incident of the spider in the night unraveled.

I reach in to said cupboard – maximizing the distance between body and the door as much as humanly possible, lean in, grab a pink vest between pinkie and thumb – and drop it in a heap on the floor.(To start the inspection process you see)

And fuck balls there it is! I can see it through the thin material of the top – black shape, legs, everything. It’s not moving, I sense it has gone into spidey attack mode – ready to launch itself onto me at any second. I will it to move out or make a sound, something to let me know he’s prepped and ready for action. Nothing

Barry phones. He’s rather jovial and on his way to meet a friend for a beer.

Kate: “Jaysuschristlove the spider is back”

Barry: “Hahahahah hahaha ha hahaha”

Kate: “For reals lovely. I’m really scared. I’m frozen in one spot and the spidersintheshirtandImfreakingthefuckout”

Barry: (In between laughing) “Shake it out over a window”

Kate: “Negative”

Barry: “It’s probably moved out the shirt and sitting on your pillow right now”

(I’ll exclude what happened then – but words rhyming with Muck Moo and Shmeeschmors were used)

Barry: “Throw the shirt in the guest shower and I will deal with it in the morning” (Disclaimer – this involved 2 fears – me touching the shirt and having to remove his grubby, moist triathlon kit from the shower floor at the same time)

At this point I’m now hovering on one foot, suspended over the top on my floor and planning my route. Enter Bella – the she hound – who makes a direct beeline for the spider-top. Convinced shes going to shove her muzzle in the material and eat whatever s inside I take swift action. Bella and boy hound are banished to their bed and I charge downstairs to get the braai tongs. Those long ones – the ones that you could insert into the surface of the sun.

Gingerly, I pick up the 8 legged housing unit and throw it in to the shower. Shower door slammed shut, bathroom door slammed shut, my bedroom door slammed shut 3 Calmettes and a linen inspection later I’m in bed.

This morning when I awake I send husband into the spare shower to retrieve the top and get rid of the spider. He returns, grinning and very proud. Also, he’s laughing a little bit.

Turns out that black shape with the legs and body I could see inside my top was intact the wash and care label, and not a spider at all.

This means two things, friends:

1. The spider is still in my bedroom

2. The only solution now is to burn down my house.

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  1. I’ve always though that Peter Parker (Spiderman) is very lucky to have grown those web spinning doodads on his arms; instead of up his arse like every other spider. Points to ponder.

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