I’ve just seen this tweet on twitter (obvious statement is obvious):
Also a flamethrower https://t.co/IL6SXv8xwU
— Tattooed_Mummy ♥️™ (@tattooed_mummy) September 21, 2015
which got me thinking about spiders, as you do (and also wondering where that little guy’s other leg got to?) They’re a hot topic in our house at the moment as it’s that time of year where they seem to appear on every wall, window ledge and — quite frequently, in our house, and I don’t understand why — in the bath tub.
Now, I’ve always been pretty scared of spiders. Jump-out-of-my-skin scared. Throw-a-shit-fit-if-one-lands-on-me scared. And then I met Gaz, and through Gaz I met Rosie, his Chilean rose tarantula:
Turns it, it’s quite hard to remain frightened of tiny house spiders when you live with a tarantula. In fact, it suddenly becomes quite obvious how much of a MASSIVE BABY you are being when something several times the size and infinitely more scary looking is happily dwelling mere feet away from you.
Which is a good thing, because now I’m not jump-out-of-skin, throw-a-shit-fit scared. In fact, now I am chief spider remover, even going so far as to pick the little buggers up in my hands and move them to safer places (i.e. anywhere that is not in the bath). This is having a brilliant (positive) effect on the kids, with Olly even asking for a spider to be placed on his arm earlier. It was dead, but a positive step is a positive step.
The only problem, though, is that now I feel empathy for the weird little critters, and in a house with four cats … well, you can probably see why that would be an issue.