Spiders, Ugh

Spiders, ughNot a fan of spiders, any, really.  But I can manage to catch them and release them outside, if they are daddy long legs or something I recognize.  I am also not too squeamish about squashing them if they are in my house space but I do always feel bad about doing that since I know they are useful.  And I have been known to shriek and leave the room quickly and yell for my husband if it’s big and nasty and fast.  All gametes of spider phobias and dislike and acceptance all in one place so I can understand others being freaked by spiders.

Had to make an emergency run to the vet on Friday.  Not for any sick pets, thank you, but I was dangerously low on cat food.  Our fuzzy babies are all on special diets and while it wouldn’t hurt them to eat something else for a day or two, we’re trying to get our two big boys (one of ours and our daughter’s cat) to lose some weight and that’s what I needed.

Luckily they had about 5 bags of the food and I snatched up 3 of them.  I paid cash and the lone young lady working the desk had to go get the safe key from the vet and go get change from the safe.   As she is handing me my change, I notice a rather large daddy long legs close to the bottom of her shirt.  She is wearing a nurse-type of shirt – buttons down the front but does not tuck into her trousers.  I tell her she has a spider on her shirt.

She immediately goes totally rigid and says “I HATE spiders” and her voice is quivering.  I tell her to get close and I will brush it off.  But that dang spider with all it’s little spidey eyes saw me coming and started working it’s way down her shirt and the minute I reached for it, he went underneath her shirt.
“Opps” is my comment.

If it was possible, she got even more rigid and says in a squeaky and timorous voice “It went up inside, didn’t it.”
“Yep”.  She starts squealing because she’s still trying to hand me my change and has dropped a coin.  I tell her to forget my coin and run to the back and get help.  She manages to scoop up my coin and practically throws it at me as she is dashing to the door that leads to the back of the vets office.  Now she is yelling, “Spider, spider, spider, help, get it off me.”

Poor girl.  I can feel for her.  I think she had her shirt unbuttoned by the time she hit the door.


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