|Image © Cindy Beck
However, it's not me that hates them. After all, what entomologist (insect-ologist) worth her salt would hate spiders? Since I was an entomologist in a previous life, that means I am not allowed to dislike the nasty-wasty buggers.
Yeah, I know. Technically speaking a spider is not an insect. It has too many hairy legs, creepy pincers, venomous bites, and some eat their mates. It's my opinion that where spiders live, there should be street signs reading, "Creepy Crawly Alley," traffic signs that say "Do Not Stop for Arachnids," plus road signs that announce "Drive Really Fast to Squash Spiders."
Yup, maybe I don't hate them, but I only like them from a distance. A looooooong distance. However, I'm a gal so I'm allowed to feel that way.
Guys are not.
Being a guy dog, Corky Porky Pie does well at spiders. He loves them. Especially as a snack before lunchtime or to chase around the legs of the table for fun.
My husband, on the other hand, is a-feared ... er ... I mean, leery of them. Which is why we had the following discussion.
"Would you go in the basement and get some spaghetti sauce for me?" I asked Russ, assuming the answer was yes.
"Nope." He flicked through the TV channels, probably looking for some tough, macho show like Ultimate Cage Fighting--with the Possibility of Death--for Your Pleasure and Supreme Mental Health.
I tilted my head. "Why not?"
"Because there are lions and tigers and bears ... oh, my! ... down there. But most of all, there are spiders." He shuddered.
If you've ever seen a guy shudder over a bug, it's not a pretty sight. Especially when it's a weight-lifting, ex-cop who should not be a-feared of anything.
"Oh come on, I've been down there and never once seen a spider." It was only a small exaggeration. I'd actually seen a creepy-crawly the day before, but it was a tiny one, not very hairy, and definitely not eating its mate so it hardly counted as a spider.
"Besides," I said, as an afterthought, "you can't be afraid of going down there because that's where we have all our important stuff stored."
Russ stopped clicking the remote. I knew I'd touched a nerve. Probably the only one he has left in his old age. But no, not a nerve about spiders--the fact that there was no room in the basement because of all the vastly important items we'd stored. It was all part of my plan. A distraction to the spider issue.
"We have far too much junk in there." Russ pointed the remote at me as if to vanquish the boxes in the basement. Or else vanquish me. I'm not sure which. He continued, "None of it is important and we're running out of room. I can't even walk around without tripping ... we need to rent a self-storage unit."
"Oh, yeah? Where? Do you see any storage places in this neighborhood?"
He scrunched his eyebrows together for a second, thinking that over. "I don't care if we have to rent a storage unit in Timbuktu, I'm not going in there until you move some of those boxes out."
I smiled sweetly. "You are so right; we need to get a storage unit. I'll take care of that, first thing after you go get the spaghetti sauce."
He strutted victoriously to the basement to get the sauce. I didn't tell him he'd forgotten about the spiders. I also didn't tell him that big, hairy spiders love to live in self-storage units--especially ones located on a street without a street sign named, "Creepy Crawly Alley."
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"There Ought to be Street Signs" © C.L. (Cindy Lynn) Beck
Tags: spiders, road signs, street signs, traffic signs
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