Two weeks ago, I decided I needed a change — something fresh and new. Usually when this feeling starts, I get itchy and antsy to do something to my hair. The justification is always that it grows back or could be dyed over. So I called a new salon that I’d seen amazing reviews of on Yelp and made an appointment for Friday night.
Armed with photos of adorable short and shaggy cuts and the color I wanted, I showed up after work that Friday, sat in chair and in a few hours, my new stylist took my long, curly brown locks from this:
The designated 'before' photo.
I was overjoyed — despite the fact that my hair was a bit, erm, ‘fluffy’ from all the washing in the appointment, I was still very pleased with the cut and the color. (I’ll also try to get another ‘after’ picture — this one seems like it’s even shorter than it is, but it is short.) I haven’t had hair this short since I was a kid . . . when it was growing out from nothing, so that was a pretty big change, but so far, I’m in love with it — it’s easy to style, I don’t wash it every day, and I’ve developed an intense love affair with dry shampoo.
Unfortunately, my joy soon turned to terror when I arrived home, and discovered an intruder was there. A giant, hairy, icky intruder perched on my wall.
I spotted him on my living room wall from in my kitchen. I moved closer, inching little by little to assess what I had been asking, “OH MY GOD! WHAT IS THAT?!” to no one, of course, because I live by myself. Realizing that not only would nobody answer me, there would be no one to rescue me either — and that’s when horror began to sink in . . .
I stepped back and assessed the situation — that was a big effing spider. So big, in fact, I could see its EYES!!! I could see HAIR!!!! HAIR people!!!!! Knowing it was me against the beast, I knew I would have to find some way to document the size of this giant, obviously man-eating spider in case he got the better of me and all that anyone would find left of me was the tiny, prickly little just-cut hairs that were still sloughing off or the photo on my phone.
So I grabbed my wallet, whipped out my AAA card, took some tape from the kitchen and slowly moved closer to the leering, manacing spider so I could do this:
Yes, I am aware the size-comparison photos of a spider makes me a pretty big nerd.
Huge, right?? It dawned on me that I didn’t have any bug spray or even napalm with which to fight the beast. Thinking quickly, I knew it would try to run . . . and I knew I would have to freeze it in its tracks. I flung the doors of the bathroom cabinet open and scanned its contents — Hairspray? Maybe. Victoria’s Secret Divine perfume? No. Scrubbing Bubbles foaming bathroom cleaner? Ding, ding! We have a winner!
Armed with the Bubbles, their cartoon mascots smiling up at me confidantly, I tiptoed back into my living room. The spider still hadn’t moved. “Maybe it’s dead?” I thought. No, I’m never that lucky. I climbed up on the couch, aimed my spray and quickly sprayed the bug with a healthy dose of Fresh Scent foam. To my everlasting horror, it moved . . . and worse still, it fell. Down the wall, onto the carpet next to my couch, where it began to move towards the back of the couch. I screamed and aimed and fired again onto the carpet to no avail.
IT WAS STILL TRYING TO RUN AWAY! The beast scurried to the back wall, and over, hiding itself behind my couch. With a superhuman strength I didn’t know I had, I grabbed the couch, flung it out and jumped around it to have one more go with the Bubbles that were doing minimal damage. It was coming down to the wire . . . And it was me, or the spider.
At the end of my couch, I keep my resistance bands (innocent bystanders in this foam spraying). But I also have a couple of handweights and an 8-lb. medicine ball. As I watched the spider struggle through the foam, reaching it’s creepy hairy legs through to crawl its way out as if it were in some war movie, I knew this was my last chance. Who knew how resilient this thing would be?
I knew what I had to do.
I picked up the medicine ball, hoisted it over my head, and with the same adrenaline-fueled strength that helped me fling my heavy couch, I hurled the ball at the spider. It was David versus Goliath, folks, but at last, the spider had stopped moving.
Even in death, the spider still scaled nearly matchbook size.
The spider was not squished by the medicine ball, which of course, is freaky. My boyfriend came to visit that night, and his remarks about the spider — which of course I’d scootched into a tightly-lidded jar to show him as evidence of my Spider Slayer status — were this:
“Wow, honey. I really wish I’d been there to see this. It has ‘YouTube’ written all over it.”
Thank you, Alex. Thank you.
For the record, before this event, I was never really afraid of spiders. I kinda thought they were cool. But getting up close and personal with the largest spider I have ever seen that wasn’t behind glass? Not okay. And I will never, ever, EVER tease any of my friends about their spider fears again. (Because clearly, what goes around, comes around.)
In case you are wondering, and if you are NOT skeeved out by articles and photos of creepy, crawly things, some Google detective work showed me that this was the culprit.
Are you afraid of spiders? Do they give you the heebie-jeebies?