I kicked a spiders ass last night.
For the first time in my life, after the racing heart, the spine gripping panic, and the girlish squealing, I felt like a man.
I was in Bluffdale. Bluffdale is at least the second most unappealing populated city name in Utah, the first possibly being Magna. Just thinking about living in Bluffdale (albeit a nice area) gives me a lonely, bleak feeling. You go to Bluffdale to go to Jail. Or IKEA. Or to watch Seinfeld in Claire's basement, as it was previously condemned on the upper level due to sexual content. Which I found strange, until I realized the most racy thing typically played in the upstairs region of the house is Little Bear. Which can get pre--tty racy. "Mama Bear? What were you and Papa Bear doing last night? Why were you attacking Mama Bear, Papa Bear?" "Just eat your muffins, Little Bear. (In hushed tones,) Dammit Papa Bear! I told you, 'not tonight, Papa Bear. Little Bear hasn't been sleeping too soundly.' But did Papa Bear listen to Mama Bear? Of Course not! Papa Bear just listened to the same thing he ALWAYS LISTENS TO."
Shocking really, that show.
Anyway, I was minding my own business, when suddenly Claire implored me to grab her arm and drag her into an upright sitting position. Something about not being able to sit up on her own because of like...an appendectomy or something silly. Not sure, I was pretty engrossed in Seinfeld. As I pulled her arm, she suddenly yelped a cry of, what I thought was terrible pain, and violently jerked away from me. "Oh gosh, I pulled to hard and made her guts fall out," thought I, in a mild panic.
Suddenly, the yelpish cries began morphing into coherent words which, to my horror, ended up being something like "spider," and "huge." I am not really one to appreciate even a tiny spider, let alone one the size of a premature baby. And making a b-line for my feet, no less.
A lot raced through my mind at that particular moment. Chiefly, "God help me, its finally happening. I'm going to die by spidering." And secondly, "Radical. I'm going to get to look really manly here, as I deftly leap up upon the couch suchions, wildly flailing a yellow shoe in the general direction of said spawn of Lucifer, while trying really hard not to scream some guttural mixture of 'run for your life' and the f word."
Before my spine melted, I jerked my legs away and desperately lurched for a shoe, at which point I slammed said shoe at the spider with all of my might.
The devilish creature then scurried beneath the couch. I was then commanded to "get it." Which is a real big problem for me. Because the second to last thing I wanted to do in all the world right then, was move that couch, and urinate in my skinnies when that thing shot out and latched onto my foot with its, at the very least, 3 inch long fangs. I tell you, this spider was the size of a kitten, if he was a centimeter. The last thing, being sit on that couch and pretend arachnozilla wasn't hanging out under there just waiting for his chance to melt my nervous system with his filthy venom.
After considering briefly the line, "you deal with this, I'm outta here," I decided that maybe I could be a man for once in my life. A real life, spider slaying hero. Everyone in the house would then gather round me, laud me for my brave heroism, and bestow lavish gifts of exotic cheeses and ice creams upon me. With that in mind, I molted away my cowardice, gave the couch a mighty shove, and out popped that spider, in a last ditch effort to ruin my life. With a deafening mental squeal, I leapt upon the fireplace bricks and let that scary bastard have it with the yellow shoe. What a manly killing tool, that shoe.
Even though I wasn't showered with gifts, praise, and love, I did feel like a man. The kind of man that keeps his cool in the face of mortal danger.
Like the Karate Kid. Or a Viking.