I am usually a gentle person. Mostly. I never watched fights in middle and high school. I can't see horror flicks due to the profusion of blood. But tonight I went outside with my Terminix spray bottle of chemical doom and proceeded to kill the largest spider I've ever seen on this side of the Pacific. Of course, I did this from about 6 feet away. I had to be prepared to flee just in case it did something unpredictable, like fall off of its ginormous web during its death throes.
After spraying it repeatedly, it finally fell down on the edge of the porch. I quickly darted back inside just in case it was faking its own demise and decided to turn around and attack me.
When John came home, we had a little talk:
Me: Honey, we need to talk about this sick tendency you have to let spiders live.
John: They're outside. They're killing bugs! They're not hurting anyone.
Me: Wrong. [pointing to the giant web hanging from our porch swing]
John: [sighs and steps outside]
Me: Oh my God, what are you doing?? There are spiders out there!
John: [giving me a exasperated look] I'm taking down the web.
My wonderful husband continues to destroy the web. Then he looks down.
John: You know that the spider is still alive?
Me: I knew it! [pause] Did you kill it?
Me: Good. You know, killing spiders makes me hot...
John: [smiles but shakes his head]
Laurie: You know... you have 4 minutes until you need to turn the steaks over.
I wish I could tell you that this story ended with a quickie and a nice medium-rare filet. Unfortunately, it ended instead with an episode of the Wiggles and late bedtimes for the kids. This is real life.
Real life sucks.