Friday, 1 November 2013

This Post is Dedicated to Amber


Am I right? Of course I'm right.

I can't pinpoint exactly the moment when spiders changed from fairly benign creatures who lived at my childhood home (all of whom were named Boris by my mother) to these hideously disjointed and unnerving creatures who frankly, look as if they could do with a good damn wash. All the Boris' were black. Black spiders. Spider-shaped, as spiders are supposed to be. I didn't care much about them to look very closely at them as a kid, but in my memory, they looked like this:

Now, though? NOW?

Whole different, dark game. Hunger Games, in fact. The spiders I find around my house are a sickly brown colour, too small to justify calling 999, but far too large to get anywhere near enough to squash. They're squat, terrifying beasts, malignant and malicious and I'm pretty sure are actually host to the souls of serial killers. Their horrid twisted legs are arranged poorly, LAZILY even. All the Boris' made sure they came out looking their best. Sleek and black in their dinner suits. Top hats. Silver-topped canes.

But THESE motherfuckers? Oh no. They're wearing stained and faded combat pants on (EVEN THOUGH THEY NEVER SERVED) and some kind of nicotene-yellew string vest. They're the worst. They look like this:

Pale brown, shifty-looking, twisted up and just.. THEY ALL LOOK DIRTY. I feel like they ought to have eyestalks, even though I'm fairly certain no spider does. ALL the legs on these spiders are stalks. Disjointed, disgusting, badly put-together stalks.


Here, have all of my nopes.

And when they die, the curl their grotesquely misshaped legs in on themselves and roll onto their back, giving the overall look of a teeny, HORRIFIC, inside-out sarlacc, ready and eager to digest your finger over a millenia if you're insane enough to pick it up. I do what any sane person would do - put a mug over it and wait for rescue to arrive.

I have only recently found in myself the fear of spiders. In the past, I didn't care about them one way or anther, but I hated wasps with a passion. Now I know that wasps are dumb enough that you can give them a careless thwack with one hand and carry on your merry way, while they're still spinning around on the pavement trying to figure out what manner of train they just flew into. THE J-TRAIN, BITCH.

Anyway. Spiders.

When I was six years old I had my first sexual awakening by dancing after a gently flying ladybird until it was caught in a spiderweb. The spider came out, wrapped it up, and all I could do was watch. HEY, I don't fucking know why that was a sexual awakening, I just know that somehow it was. I HASTEN TO ADD that I had no sexual FEELINGS for the spider (Please, oh please, internet, please don't make attractions to spiders be a real thing. I'm not Googling it, just in case.) I just sort of watched the ladybird get wrapped up and devoured. More like a: "Shit. I'm a woman now."

Can someone explain to me why spiders love bathrooms so much? Are they secretly using the powershower while I'm out, or maybe they're going to the toilet or brushing their teeth or-- I have no idea. Checking their make-up? I realise it's distinct possibility that it's because they climb up the plug-holes, but whatever. My theory is better.

I actually had to stop leaving my clothes in the bathroom overnight. If I happen to have a particularly evil day, sometimes you just want to throw on your PJs, toss your day clothes on the bathroom floor and collapse face-first into bed, preferring to deal with tossing the clothes in the washing machine the next day.

On one such occasion, I pulled a pair of jeans on that had been in the bathroom overnight, felt a tickle on my leg, gave it a shake, AND A SPIDER FELL OUT.


....I have to go. The memory is still too traumatising. Oh god.

It was on me.

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