Lions, Tigers, Bears ... and Spiders?!

Little known fact, for which Himself would kill me if he knew the entire world now knows: He is afraid of spiders. Deathly afraid of spiders. He will NOT kill a spider himself. Rather, the appearance of an 8-legged creature requires yelling to whomever is within shouting distance to "come take care of the problem." This, of course, is more humorous when I am not the one who has to "rescue" Himself from said spider.

A fact neither Himself nor I considered when renting the Hobbit Hole: Utah + Basement = Spiders.

It wasn't so bad the first few days. A spider here, some webs there. "Honey, don't worry, they're harmless" as Himself fretted about what I had gotten us into without his supervision.

Then came Tuesday night. Tuesday was an all-around bad night anyway, because I had come to the crushing realization that pregnancy did equal helplessness, as I struggled to complete the grocery shopping and the schlepping of food down into the Hobbit Hole.

I walked into the bathroom to do some laundry. I pulled back the shower curtain to balance the laundry basket on the side of the tub, only to discover a colony of 8-legged arachnids camped out in semi-permanent fashion.

I think, at that point, was when I hit the end of my very short, very frayed rope. I called my mother 300 miles away, who wondered what on earth I wanted her to do about the problem. Very calmly, I said, "Nothing, but I can't call Himself, because at the revelation that we have a colony of spiders camping in our tub, he will steadfastly refuse to relocate. He's still in Virginia. Once he makes it to Utah, he can't go back. I need him to move in with me. That is in serious jeopardy if I disclose the spider issue is really this bad. And I have to tell someone about this ridiculousness."

The very end of the rope really came when, after killing all of the spiders I could find, I called Himself, sobbing, with an emotionally wrought discourse on how much I hated it in the Hobbit Hole. (This of course, was only slightly more rational than disclosing the spider issue, after all Himself is still in Virginia, and already having second thoughts about having to fear hitting his head every time he enters or exits our bedroom).

A total of 16 spiders (21 if you count the 5 I killed on Wednesday morning) and a half a roll of toilet paper later, I sat down and composed an e-mail to my landlord, explaining that while I applauded his "no pesticides" motto, I could not possibly live in a place occupied by more than one 8-legged critter (or their webs) at a time.

Then, I put the drain plug over the tub. I am having visions of taking it off only to have the entire bathroom overrun with a hoard of angry spiders who have been pent up in the tub drain waiting for escape. Then I remind myself that one of us being afraid of spiders is enough. I have to be the strong, sane one on this issue.

At least until I find another spider.