It’s no secret that I am not a fan of spiders all up in my bidniz.
Weirdly enough – or not so weirdly, really – I started realising a few months back that they didn’t bother me as much anymore.
Not saying I want to ever experience this situation again…
… but I wasn’t as reactive to all-comers; in the past I’ve been paralyzed by even the teeny-tiniest mite of a spider on my arm. I can only think to relate this change to [other changes], based on some related things that used to strike the fear of ages into me that don’t anymore. I certainly didn’t make any conscious effort to alter my perception.
I was filled with shame and regret when I reflexively (though with intent) sprayed a small(ish), black spider on the basement steps a few months ago. A week later, I went down to fetch a clean dish towel from the laundry, finding one buried in the centre of the *ahem* (2″ high) pile. I got all the way upstairs with it and in the middle of the kitchen, a black thing dropped out from the towel, spasmed a few times, and curled up, eight accusatory legs in the air.
It was the same spider o.O It crawled – covered in spray – from the steps, across the basement – a journey of relative miles, suffering the last stages of respiratory arrest -, into the middle of the laundry, into the middle of the very towel I would choose.
No jokes, I dropped to my knees and made apologies to the spider gods.
I can only assume I am schooled and forgiven. My 5 weeks in SA were arachnid-incident free!