This is not a post about a person who loves spiders and is excited to share how wonderful they are…this is a post about me and my life with spiders.
I did not choose a life with spiders, but I am alive and through the simple (OK, not so simple sometimes) act of living, I live with spiders.
Spiders are everywhere. Do you hear me? Everywhere.
As I sit here and type this post, I am certain that there’s a spider under my desk.
OK. So, I literally just crawled under my desk and whadda ya know! I found a spider. Here’s a picture of it.
On my way back from a doctor’s appointment last week, as I’m flying down the interstate, a teensy-weensy, little, bitty, spider dropped from the door lock, on the driver’s side. Remember, I’m driving. The spider looked very similar to the one in the photo below, but it was the size of this (O). (I’m not kidding.)
My first thought is, Oh shit. My next thought is, Do I pull over?
What I actually did: sit as far to the right of my seat as possible without hindering my driving and talk to the spider.
Me: “Hey there little guy. You just stay right there until I can get you out of my car. Just stay on your side!”
Do you think that worked? Ha! Of course not. There’s no such thing as a spider whisperer and if there is, I’m not it!
I can hear my naturalist friends scoffing…my behavior makes no sense. Just the day before, I held a tarantula. Nobody asked me if I wanted to hold it. Another naturalist mentioned that one of the presenters for my Master Naturalist training session brought a tarantula (the bug guy, obviously). Without really thinking, this is what unfolded…
Me: “Can I hold your tarantula?”
Bug Guy: “Sure! How are you going to hold her?”
Me [gesturing awkwardly with my arms]: “Uhhh…”
Finally, I decide on placing one palm on the other and hold my hands as far away from my body as possible.
Then, there she was — Rosie. The most beautiful spider I had ever seen and probably the first and last I will ever touch, in the palms of my hands.
The bottom of her tarsus (feet, maybe?) were sticky, but not like gooey-sticky, it was like velcro-sticky. I don’t know which of us was the hook or the loop, but we were connected and it was awesome.
She was a beautiful rosy color (hence her name, I suppose) and her body (cephalothorax) shined like rose-gold. (Side note: my 3-year-old taught me about the cephalothorax, the fused together head and body of spiders.)
I was high for the rest of that day — and it was a pretty bad day! I turned to the Bug Guy…
Me: “Can you tell me, why she won’t bite me?”
Buy Guy [wagging his finger at Rosie]: “Because I told her this before we left the house this morning, ‘NO BITING!'”
“Puh!” I replied. I was expecting a serious answer — not a chance. Well, the P-sound in the Puh! flowed over Rosie’s hairs (tarantulas are fuzzy) and startled her. Seriously, I’m too embarrassed to post a photo (which I have) of the look on my face when made herself small. It was time for the Bug Guy to take her back.
Featured Image: Tan Jumping Spider. Image Credit: Animal Perspectives.