My eagle scout husband does not like to kill bugs. Wait, that is an understatement. Let’s just say he has an active imagination when it comes to insects and their abilities. In his head they can perform incredible feats in order to escape death at his hands . . . or should I say apparatus?
This morning there was a spider on our crown molding in the dining room. It was a rather large, flat spider. He asked me if he had to kill it. Of course, I said. Ever since I heard the statistic that people eat about twelve spiders in their lifetime, every bug I see in the house I imagine crawling down my throat while I’m deep in the pit of slumber, unaware. (Dave’s not the only one with the active imagination.)
He protested and said he didn’t want to. I told him it wasn’t negotiable. Then he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with his weapon. A dangerous piece of armament. Often used to bring dirt to its knees. To obliterate grime. A Mop.
I didn’t say anything but watched as he tried to sponge the spider to death. Remember how I said the spider was very flat? Well this characteristic left him unaffected and unconcerned by the mop. He didn’t even move.
I came up with Plan B, which was a more traditional approach involving a big wad of paper towels and a hand. Once again, my idea was met with protest, which I countered with more encouragement. “Come on.” “Are you serious?” “You the big six foot guy can’t kill that tiny little spider?”
Dave got some paper towels and mumbled something about wishing for a bigger wad. Then he put the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and tightened it around his face (in case the spider took a flying leap into his hair???). I’m not sure, but I think this is where the active imagination thing comes into play.
“If this spider jumps,” he said. “I’m never doing this again.” I prayed it would not jump because if he won’t do it, who will? Not I. (I have to admit that I actually saw this spider last night in the kitchen and I did what any independent, self-respecting woman would do—I left it, hoping it would reappear when Dave was around.) My plan worked. The spider had the misfortune to be sprawled out in plain view before Dave left for work.
In the end, it didn’t jump. Dave smashed it on the wall with the paper towels and then brought the wad to the floor and then stepped on it for good measure.
I gave Dave ten man points for accomplishing the task. It would have been more if it weren’t for the mop and the hood.