Terror on the Toilet

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I was almost finished with my, um, “business” when I looked up and saw the monster.

Its hundred beady eyes gleamed with malevolent purpose as it gazed at me from across the expanse of tastefully understated sage green bathmat. It was the size of a salad plate. Well…maybe a dessert plate. Okay, okay—it was the size of a quarter. A big quarter. Its slavering jaws gnashed senselessly together, and I saw one of its hairy legs twitch, as if readying itself for violence.

My pants were still down around my bare feet and I knew I was as helpless as a gazelle on Kapiti Plain at high noon. Slowly, so slowly, as my heart beat a rumba of terror in my chest, I hooked my fingers into my belt loops and slid my jeans up over my hips in a soft swish of denim, keeping my eyes locked onto the terrible beast while I zipped and buttoned and glanced helplessly around me for aid.

Still it stood there, right in the middle of the bathroom floor, in clear defiance of the Katrina-Arachnid Peace Accord of 2002 (Article 1.1 “No spider shall cross acknowledged boundaries into areas designated for human habitation, on pains of immediate and excruciating death by means of shoe, spray, or toilet.”) Not only was my official Spider Executioner away from the premises, but I had been caught unawares by the enemy at the most undignified, vulnerable moment of my day. Here, in my inner-sanctum-slash-library-slash-thoughtful-spot, where not even my children dare intrude, the loathsome interloper was boldly eyeballing me with its rude, unblinking stare.

I started to get mad.

It’s a powerful thing, anger, and it soon took the place of my fear as I gathered up a great wad of toilet paper in preparation for the squish. I leaned closer, snarling now, and advanced on the spider, visions of King Leonidas and his courageous Spartans flashing inspirationally across my mind’s eye.

And then, it moved.

I squealed. I jumped two feet in the air. I did the Icky Spider Dance of Girliness, and then, shuddering, I leapt forward and smashed the hairy brute under a bundle of Charmin the size of my head.

Victory.

Later that afternoon, the spider’s cousin Vito showed up next to the heating grate and got the same treatment. I tossed his tiny corpse out onto the front step as a warning to other eight-legged invaders not to mess with me.

That was Monday. I guess it must be working.

Leonidas would be proud, I think.

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17 responses »

  1. At our house, I’m snakes and rodents, Jessica is bugs. Division of labor is the key to our successful relationship.

    (Plus, I hate anything with more legs me. Dogs, cats and other mammals don’t count, because I think of their front legs as arms.)

  2. Spiders I can handle. It’s the monster-sized tree roaches that invade us each & every year that I cannot stand. Sometimes they have wings and, should you dare mess with them, they will immediately take flight and act as Kamikazi warriors. It’s awful and makes me do the “Icky Roach Dance of Girliness”, closely related to the “Icky Spider Dance of Girliness”, but much more intense, including screams and squeals not included in the latter dance. I am prepared and usually not surprised (though not happy) to find them in bathrooms & kitchens, where water and/or food might be found. But when they invade my living room and, yes, bed, that’s where I draw the line!!!

    We’ve already had the exterminator out once this ‘roach season’ and he is scheduled to return tomorrow for a re-spray – you know it’s bad when a re-spray of chemicals designed to kill small creatures (while supposedly not harming humans & pets) is a welcomed relief!

    So glad you conquered and lived to tell about it 🙂

  3. Bathroom spiders are dealt with by trapping them under the toilet plunger.

    Then, the hubby has to come in and slide a cardboard under the plunger, then take the whole thing outside and release spidey in his natual habitat.

    (HATE spiders.. still, can’t kill ’em… I’m a weenie)

  4. Icky Spider Dance of Girliness

    HA! Love that cuz it is so true!

    Here we have the Icky Tiny Lizard Dance of Girliness. That includes a full body shiver quiver.

    I have no qualms about killing spiders, roaches or anything invading my home smaller than my pinky.

  5. Bug Weapon of Choice: The vacuum. Even LM laughed at me until today, when he realized HE didn’t want to squish the wasp that was in our window. I introduced him to Suction of Doom.

  6. So, I’m interested in this vacuum thing. Does it really kill them? They don’t just crawl back out through the hose later and live to terrorize the populace another day, do they?

  7. Unless you keep a vacuum in each room, how do you go get it, drag it up the stairs, plug it in, attach the proper attachment, turn it on and suck up the critter before it runs and hides to plot its next attack? I killed a really big, really fast spider last night. He was big enough for me to see running past the front door while I was in my chair watching the Bourne Identity. Girls, you will realize the front door is behind me. I kid you not, it was a big spider. And, Katrina, I hate using too much tissue because sometimes if you have too much, you can miss crushing the spider and then he’s just panicing and running all over the outside of the tissue, up your arm and into your shirt. Consider that next time you start wadding up a skull sized ball of tissue.

  8. Ahh…you’ve done it again, Katrina. Your artful prose has reached out and grabbed me by the nape of the neck and pulled me into the story…I’m just not sure I want to be pulled into the actual setting of the story. I feel that I have spied a very private moment between you and your…thoughts, only to be revolted by your tale of death and destruction of one of God’s beautiful creatures. You murderer. What have you to say for yourself? That spider had a mother…could have been a mother itself, at the very least it had a friend or two making it a friend to another. Oh, the humanity.

    You need to call pest control so its friends, mother, father, children, acquaintances, and second cousins die a slow painful death.

  9. ha ha– that was fabulous. My house has had some visitors lately and I have no idea where they are coming from, but it is time for them to leave. Luckily, my insect ridder is my cat and he works hard to keep the place up to snuff.

  10. I love Kathy’s comments…which I’m sure were written to make you squirm even more. 🙂 I fully support the squishing of the spiders. After all, it’s Your house, not theirs! Great post. I, too, have seen you do the icky spider dance of girliness. It is quite cute.

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