The Spider Closet

I don’t like spiders. They move too fast. They can walk on the ceiling. They have too many legs and no charm whatsoever. However, unlike many other spider-despisers I have a very valid reason for my loathing. Back in 1962 I was pushing the limits of an adult who was caring for me. I’m not totally clear on who it was, but they said something to me which forever changed my life. It was this - “If you’re not good, I’ll put you in the spider closet.” Ok, it’s been 43 years and I’m sure the CPS statutes of limitations have run its course, but I still feel compelled to stop and ask “who says stuff like that to a three year old?” I mean, after that please don’t try and tell me that they have a good side. While it’s clear that I’m never going to have a symbiotic relationship with them I have come a long way over the past four decades.

The pinnacle of this growth is that I now understand that they do have a good side. It’s called “outside”. If they are outside they are at least contributing to the downfall of the aphid which is something to note. However, if they get inside, well, that’s where I start drawing the line. I should probably have some type of size chart posted at each window and door like they do at the carnival saying “you must be at least this small to come inside.” Of course, I’d have to make sure they understood the circumference of reference includes the legs. But, I don’t have a sign like this posted anywhere and so in they come from time-to-time. I now refer to them as infiltrators. Point them out to my husband, who is in spider-despiser recovery. I then go get the standard two Bounty paper towels required for clean-up. He is a tidy executioner, usually lining up the flat end of his bagpipe chanter with the spider and then a quick flat smack. The tiny carcass is then removed into the paper towels and deposited in the trash.

However, just the other evening I thought I’d taken a giant leap forward in my willingness to share the planet with the likes of the spider. A rather large infiltrator had found its way into our dining room and was scurrying along the wall where it joins the ceiling. I pointed him out, grabbed the paper towels and stood watching as my husband scoped out the situation. And then quite remarkably, he got the spider on the paper towels and asked me to open the door to the patio which I did. And there he came with the spider balancing on the paper towels toward me, toward the outside. I started to think; well you’ve really grown up. No more spider closet worries. My husband drew nearer and we sort of smiled at each other, acknowledging our bravery and benevolence. As he passed by me I tip-toed up to his ear and whispered “Throw it over the side.” And, this he did, paper towels and all.