Wednesday, May 16, 2012

The Spider Murderer (part 2)

There I was sitting on the patio, minding my own business.  My head bobbing slightly to the tune drifting from my phone, perhaps a few notes absently escaping through my mouth.  Wielding a paintbrush in my hand, I was turning my mini pencils blue (because obviously, they needed it*).

The sun is shining, the slight breeze doesn't disturb my painting.  Things are going along nicely.  But then - then I am interrupted.

You know those nasty garden spiders?  The black ones with white stripes?  The ones that look like they crawled out of a pit deep within the earth and move like a wolf on steroids with their shady scurry.  (Alright, so I think all spiders look like they struggled their way out of the depths of hell, but these ones are particularly evil looking.)

Upon googling, I find out it's called a jumping spider.  Are you kidding me?  These things jump as well?

Anyway, back to my story.  Here I am, happy as can be, until I notice my new "friend."  Uhm, please go away.  I am outside, I realize I'm in your space.  But I'm busy.  My hands are full.  And you touching me, well, that's not acceptable.

But he does not heed my warning, and he's a fast little sucker.  I roll a container of paint at him.  He stands there (watching me with those bulbous eyes).  I toss the hose toward him...he darts to the left a little.  Finally, I put down my paintbrush and pencil #37 of 60.  I grab the watering can, since it's close.  How about a little swim?  That gets him moving some, but eventually he just starts walking on top of the water.


He's still not moving away from me.  Somehow he's still heading my direction.  I content myself with turning my front toward him so he's not walking out of eyesight behind me.  I watch him ease up the hose and fall off when it crosses over itself.

He assumes the aggravated "I will bite you" stance I recognize from the wolf spiders of the jungle.  This guy has about 10 more seconds to live.  We sit there, eyes locked on one another, for a full 30 seconds, until he lowers his front legs and turns to the side a bit.

I watch him scurry into the garden.  That's where he can stay...or so help me that little guy is a goner.

*It is all about the details...or so I keep being told.  I can't handle plain yellow pencils now, can I?**

**Alright, maybe it's just that I'm a bit anal.

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