Savannah Watson

Before I get to the story, let me start by giving a brief preface:

1. This is a one hundred percent true story.
2. This post was the suggestion of my friend and coworker who actively follows my blog (she was my first follower, in fact – thank you for that, by the way 😊). I told her the story at work, and she promptly insisted I share it here. So, that is what I am doing!
3. There will be swearing in this post (my apologies, but that is how I talk, and I am trying to stay true to my original telling of the story). Also, if you have a fear of spiders, I highly suggest skipping this post.

Without further ado, here is the story: The Spider in my Apartment.

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My bathroom is a funky L-shape. Walking in, there is a tiny “hall” where the linen closet is on one side and the light switch is on the other. Straight ahead is the sink. Then, there is the L-ish-shape where the wall turns into the toilet and tub/shower.

You have to take two steps into my bathroom before you get to the light switch, so on Monday, July 18th, that was what I did.

Step, step, lights.

And on the floor – an inch or so from my foot – was a spider.

Now, this spider wasn’t just a spider; he was a SPIDER. He was a monster. The body alone was easily between the size of a nickel and a quarter. I live in the Southern U.S., so I am no stranger to large bugs in the house, but this was easily the biggest spider I have ever seen indoors.

Thoroughly jump-scared, I hopped over him into the bathroom, so I wouldn’t step on him.

And this fucker turned around and took a few quick steps towards my foot like “let me get at that foot”.

So, I hopped back over him into the hallway.

And again, he turns around to face my foot. At this point, it was clear that what he wanted was to fuck up my foot. Every time I moved, he followed.

It’s important to mention that I like spiders. I’m that freak that refuses to kill them and insists on catching them and putting them outside. Spiders are great for pest control!

So, I went to the kitchen and got a cup. I crept back down the hall to the bathroom and stopped in the doorway. He scurried around to face me again.

It was at that moment that I knew:

All I kept thinking of was when you try to catch a tarantula in the game Animal Crossing New Horizon; you have to creep up slooooooooowly with your net raised, and the tarantula stands up on its hind legs and hisses at you. If you miss when you swing your net, however, they jump your ass.

I didn’t think that I could safely catch him in a cup (the minute I brought my hand down, my hand would be next on the hit list), so my only option was to kill him. And I hated that.

I used a Swiffer mop (again, protecting my hand from attack) to kill him and apologized profusely to him for it. (Yes, I apologized to the corpse of a spider. Don’t judge me.)

The next morning, I sent my dad a text basically asking if I should be worried (because what are dads for, right?) and he said probably not. Even so, I have since refused to step into my bathroom without first turning on the lights, which is funny looking, I’m sure. I stand in the hallway and lean as far into the bathroom as I can to hit the light switch.

For something so small, its desire to maim was admirable. Good luck to you, Mr. (or Mrs.) Spider. May you fuck up all the feet your heart desires in hell, because we all know you aren’t making it to heaven acting like that.

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