A raging war of might

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I have a phobia. Spiders. Okay, it isn't the worst thing to be afraid of, and it isn't as though my whole life is dysfunctional around this disabling affliction, unlike someone else I know. But, yes, arachnophobia has ahold of me by its eight tiny little legs.

This fear of mine manifests itself in a couple of ways. Firstly, if there is a spider in the room, I can spot it. Chip in the paint? No, a spider. Dirt clod in the corner? No, a spider. My eyes are instantly riveted to the slow moving spot on the wall until a) I leave the room, or b) it is dead. Secondly, it produces in me such a rush of adrenalin that my brain ceases to function properly. While my brain is screaming random thoughts, the rest of my body cannot remember what it is supposed to do and motor skills flail and jerk in a frenzy of activity.

One night, deep in slumber, my daughter gently whispered in my ear, "Mom, there is a spider in my room." Instantly awake with my eyelids snapping to attention, I leapt out of bed, confused and dazed.

"What? What is the matter?" I asked, brain struggling to process the steps it needed to become fully conscious but hindered by the creeping sensation that it was awoken by something that had to do with a lot of articulated legs.

"There is a spider in my room, on the wall," my daughter repeats slowly and clearly, sensitive of my affliction. Oh, My Dear Lord. I stumbled across the hall and paused in her doorway. Gazing across her room strewn with clothing, books, and stuffed animals, I stood rooted to the carpeting.  There was only about one square foot of clear flooring surrounded by 99 square feet of spider-harboring habitat. And there, on the wall, at the foot of her bed was a 5 inch black, hairy, cane spider. I was transfixed with terror.

We both stood for a moment. Finally, my daughter looked in my panic-sticken face and said, "what should we do?"

Even though I knew that my role was to be one of hero, all I could think about was how I could seal her room off from mine. In the end, a pesticide bomb was placed in her room (she slept elsewhere) with a towel efficiently tucked under the door so that we all wouldn't perish along with the spider. It was found the next day, to confirm the kill, and everyone was happy.

I'm not proud of my selfish fears, but those who know me accept that this is who I am. But woe to the spider who crosses my path. Expect a fearsome end; this is a battle of the fittest. I may not be as agile, but I'm a hell of a lot bigger and I've got hysterical, adrenaline-fed reactions on my side.