The other day I was reaching for a towel after my shower, and I thought, “It’s nice that there aren’t so many spiders in the house anymore.”

Spiders were an unexpected consequence of moving into a newly constructed home.  While it stood vacant, the open soffits and myriad gaps in the foundation made our new house an arachnid haven.  For months after we moved in, spiders were a frequent sight; so much so that Hubby began to consider some kind of scheme to extract rent payments from our many squatters.

We’re not particularly bothered by spiders, so when we found one we’d usually usher it out the door unharmed; although if it was a particularly inconvenient time or location it sometimes got squished instead.

Which brings me back to the shower.  Shortly after we had moved in, I’d finished my morning shower and grabbed the towel off the towel bar.  I was drying off when an odd sensation made me look down… in time to see a largish black spider crawling up my stomach, apparently making a play for my left boob.

I’m don’t shriek or spaz out over spiders.   After you’ve had a spider crawling on your tongue, you tend to be a little less excitable about those sorts of things; but nevertheless I moved quite… *ahem*… briskly to rid myself of my unwanted suitor.  He didn’t survive the experience.

And that very day, I developed a new habit of vigorously shaking out my towel before using it.  Even though I haven’t seen a spider in the bathroom for months, I still do it.  And it’ll probably be a lifelong habit since BC is home to black widow spiders and brown recluse spiders, and I have a healthy respect for both.

But not a phobia.  I’m slightly ashamed to admit that I find humour in the reactions of the poor folks who do suffer from arachnophobia… like a guy I used to know.

It was a hot day and we were working outside.  I went in to get a glass of water and brought one out for him, too.  He accepted it with thanks, took a sip… and then flung it at me.  I dodged, the glass flew across the yard and rolled down the sidewalk, and I demanded, “WHAT THE…????”

Pale-faced and wide-eyed, he stammered, “A spider.  There was a spider on the bottom.”

Miraculously, the glass hadn’t broken.  When I retrieved it and pointed out the harmless piece of detritus stuck to the bottom, he was sheepish but unrepentant.  “It looked like a spider when I saw it through the bottom of the glass.  I’d do the same again.  Spiders, brrrr!”

Arachnophobes would heartily endorse his reaction, but even they would have to laugh at this story that actually made the news:  A father walks through a spiderweb and the whole family freaks out at the fact that the spider is now in the house… only to discover that they’ve inadvertently captured the whole show on video.

I’m actually feeling sorry for the guy, but my sympathy might be a bit difficult to discern behind my tears of laughter…