I had such a busy weekend…and I am so behind on posts (and responses)…which I will hopefully get to today and tomorrow…BUT! I have to interrupt my chronological order of posts to announce the pain and suffering I endured yesterday.
Yes, I may have suffered a heart attack.
I’m still in a catatonic daze.
My life may never be the same again.
So. I was getting ready to run a few errands…nothing out of the ordinary. I had my purse on my shoulder, sunglasses on and keys in my hand walking toward the front door…just like every other time I leave the house. As I swing open the front door, something light and tickle-y brushes ever so softly against my arm.
I’m no fool. My brain is already pre-wired to identify that sensation in about 1.2 nano seconds.
Without fail, my body starts flailing around desperately like a fish out of water…at the same time I’m slapping my arm and sprinting in place. Yes, this was a whole body effort…minus the lack of any sort of coordination. I mean, I was moving in ways that were previously considered humanly impossible.
I slapped my face and told me to get a hold of myself.
And I stood there in complete stillness. Embarrassed in front of myself for such uncontrolled movements, but mostly because I had a mystery to solve.
I began the re-enactment in my mind… looking what I was standing under–the doorway. Re-enacting my arm slaps to see what direction I was slapping said perpetrator off of me. Re-playing the sensation of a light tickle across my arm in my head.
No, it couldn’t have been a flying bug. Or a leaf.
No. It was lighter, leaner, more legs.
Not moving, I started scanning the floor around me…looking in the direction of my slaps.
I zeroed in on legs. Lots of legs. Long, long skinny legs…trying to blend in with the wood floor.
NO! I said in horror and disbelief.
Please no. Anything but that.
The room started to spin around me; I started to feel faint. My mind just replayed the tickle sensation over and over as I now knew how many legs brushed up against me. 8. All 8 of them tickled my bare-skinned arm as it fell from the doorway. And now I knew at any moment this creature was going to make a run for it. I had to do something.
You see, I don’t think I’m making myself clear. It is a true statement that I don’t like spiders. But I don’t dislike all spiders equally. I am absolutely scared silly at the sight of a daddy long legs. And don’t you dare tell me “they can’t hurt you”…because my biggest fear has come true and I will suffer emotionally and mentally all the days of my life. They don’t look like stable spiders as the they perch in their corner webs. I mean, how could they? Those legs are so long and skinny and frail. They walk on stilts. They are just bound to lose their balance and fall at any moment. Case in point.
Now is the time I regain consciousness and begin to recognize the need for a plan. And quick. I already know that I cannot step on the spider. It will crunch. And remnants may be left on my shoe. I cannot whack the spider with an object….frail legs will go flying everywhere. The only rational solution is to go all Roadrunner/Wyle E. Coyote on Mr. Long Legs. Because cartoons teach valuable lessons.
I grabbed the first item I could see without moving…Jon’s sandal. (Sorry Jon. I cannot be held responsible for items left by the front door.) I leaned over the arachnid, holding the sandal near chin level, making visual adjustments for accuracy and dropped! It landed square on top of “daddy”. He never saw it coming.
But that’s not the only lesson I’ve learned from cartoons. I also know that the coyote never dies. He somehow manages to escape the pile of bricks or stick of TNT or fall from the cliff (with the classic YA-HOO-HOO-HOOOOO as he falls 10,000 feet only to make a large hole in ground and to climb out seeking revenge).
Well the same logic applies (in my mind) with the long legs. I just provoked him. He will slither out from under that shoe and seek his revenge. I. MUST. RUN.
Which is exactly what I did.
My legs spun around in a circular blur. Beep. Beep. And I was out of there.
I hopped in my car so fast, I didn’t even close the screen door. The only thing that could come close to calming me down was a Cherry Limeade from Sonic. Oooh! And it’s happy hour! So I found my comfort. Momentarily anyway. I kept feeling more spiders crawling all over me as a drove. Passerbys must thought I was nuts (or had a serious disorder) as I continued to slap myself the whole drive there as I felt little tickles. I even convinced myself that maybe the whole spider family fell on me and I just shoed their father. Or, worse, mother. AHHH! SLAP! Or maybe not. Maybe they were just waiting for me until I got home.
With that, I decided that I couldn’t return home until Jon was back from work and could take a peek under the sandal.
I was forced to browse around Michaels while I waited. I know. The torture. 
The moment of truth was revealed when Jon got home: long legs met his demise. RIP Mr. Legs.
Mildly comforting yes. But nothing can reverse the continued tickle sensation I feel across my arm. I would have wished it to be anything else falling from the doorway… a bug, a cat, a wolf… something with weight. Something with impact. At least leave me with a mark so I have physical justification for my paranoia. Not just a tickle.
This is the very thing that my very worst nightmares are made up of.
Oh, the horror.
