I don't handle spiders well. I don't *handle* them at all, in fact, so it might come as a bit of a surprise to you that I willingly watched Arachnophobia over the weekend. You know the one; early '90's, Jeff Daniels and John Goodman... right?? Creepy, cheesy and make-your-skin-crawl-worthy.
Little Man went to bed early, so I curled up on the couch with my other three favorite men, (You know them well... Ryan, Ben and Jerry) and we watched as victim after victim was maliciously attacked by the killer laboratory-raised tarantulas, ahem, I mean... spiders.
Anyway, this was Saturday night. I figured, after watching such a terrible thing, that the inevitable would happen and I'd find myself nose to nose with a giant spider within 24 hours of the completion of the movie. Imagine my surprise when Sunday passed successfully without so much as a glimpse of one of those creepy mutants!!
...skip ahead to Monday, when we were leaving to run errands and my duty was to lock the door behind us. I reached forward for the knob, and there, dangling from my hand was ONE OF THEM. True to form, I screeched with full lung capacity, flung my arm in the air and waved it wildly around.
"Spider! Spiiiiii-derrrrr!!! Get it! Get it! HELP MEEEEE!"
Ryan casually sauntered back through the gate and glanced my way with a half-raised eyebrow. It wasn't until I demanded his immediate search and destroy tactics that he came to my side, glanced from my toes to my head and said,
"I don't see it. It's probably in the diaper bag."
Great! Fabulous!! Because that makes me feel better??
Men. They always know just the right thing to say.