Flight and Fight

Today I almost died, I think.

My foot squished as it pressed into my memory foam bath mat, soaked in water, from my poorly curtained shower-bath. I finally felt clean after a sweaty workout and a mind numbing day of tech jobbing. I was ready to take on the evening with fresh vigor.

I pulled my worn blue towel off its rack and wiped my face. I shifted my towel down my back, wiping my way down and stretched the towel wide and lined it up to wrap around my waist. Out of my primordial periphery, my amygdala counted eight not so itsy legs, and before frontal cortex knew what was happening, my towel was off my body and falling to the floor, my voice released a counter-tenor 'fuck that' and I'd soared higher in the air than Anna Pavlova. I've teleported from bathroom to bedroom, my heart has migrated from my chest to my throat, and water is dripping off my hair, down my nose, and onto the carpet below.

Breathe in, breathe out. I try to still myself and pull my mind, body and soul back to the present. A voice inside declares, 'This intrusion cannot stand.'

Prey has turned to predator, predator to prey. Flight and fight are not exclusive, I must have both. I prepare my body - I can't take this enemy down in the nude. I shake a clean pair of briefs to ensure no further surprises, and silently slide them on. I cautiously step toward the bathroom doorway; I must locate the enemy so he doesn't escape.

Step by step by creepy little giant step, this not so bitsy motherfucker is climbing MY bathroom wall. Enemy located, and on the move. I gather my weapons: a green handled broom, a Shark vacuum cleaner -- plugged in, handle pulled out, topped with an extra long extension, and the pride of my bug hunting arsenal: my trusty wooden 10 (rubber band) shooter.

I load the rubber bands quickly and take aim. This fucker needs to be dead, NOW. Breathe in, breathe out. I steady my shooting arm with my left and take aim...

and CLACK, my rubber band has jammed.

"Shit shit shit."

My enemy takes another step up the wall and I pause. I can see his legs stretching to their full length that could easily cover the side of the toilet paper roll across the room from him. My pulse accelerates as each of his mouth tendrils wiggle as he walks.

"Did he bite me with those? Fuck if he got me..."

I check my body and notice no pain, perhaps I was fast enough.

I reload my gun, taking my time this round. I realize she might not have the caliber to kill a monster of this size; I need to be ready for the double tap. I place the broom within arms reach, steady my gun hand, and take aim again.

BLAT BLAT

Two shots rattle off in quick succession. The beast is falling, speeding through the humid air and coming to a cushioned landing on my dropped towel. My left hand shoots out and grabs the handle of the broom. My gun tumbles to the floor as I two-hand grasp the broom and extend it over my target. I raise it slowly to the ceiling, and...

WHAM! WHAM! CRACK!

The head of the broom soars into the air, free from the handle, and I lose sight of my target as the broom head clatters to the ground. Handle in hand I scan the bathroom terrain for my nemesis. There! A thorax and 8 crinkled legs, still, unmoving on the edge of the towel.

Is it done?

I reload my gun and take one shot, a triple tap, just to be sure. I miss.

I nudge the towel with the tip of my shattered broom's handle, unable to connect myself from hand to pole to carcass.

It remains still.

It's time to purify. I grab the Shark Vac and turn it on, suction set to max. I aim the tip of the vac just above the body, and with a meaty thunk, it's over. He's dead, I'm alive.

And now, my home is covered in spider glue traps.