revenge of the spiders II

(apologies for 3 spider posts in one week, but this was huge)

I've done reasonably well at moving on from Monday's spider saga. I didn't see the little beastie again, and no point worrying myself to death over something I might never ever see! Spiders move on and so does life. Get over it. Even Frank noted that I'd recovered well from my arachnaphobic episode.

So there we were this morning, enjoying the opportunity for an Australia Day lie in, watching clouds float past the window and feeling satisfied with the world. Suddenly Frank grabbed me and attempted to flick me out of the bed. I barely budged an inch so he made a second attempt at the flicking, at which point I started to complain about such rough treatment of his beloved wife.

It was about then that I realised Frank wasn't joking. He had seen THE SPIDER - the 3cm long spider. He had seen it in THE BED - moving my way and only millimetres from my body! His seeming violence was a brave attempt to save me from an almost certain spider bite.

You can imagine the rest of the story. I flew out of the bed faster than a flash of lightening and we set about killing the little blighter. Except we couldn't find him! Under the bed, stripping the sheets, in the ironing board cover, shaking the pillows... no where to be found! After two close encounters there was no way we were letting him get away this time. We kept hunting until I saw him scampering across the floor boards.

Whack! He is dead. True to my promise I did not torture, I killed.

Autopsy revealed an adolescent huntsman.

This whole incident has left my skin crawling... I'm just glad I didn't see it in such close proximity.

A poem to bring closure:

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
There came a big spider
Who sat down beside her
So she clobbered him
Hard with her tray