I've always wanted to be a person who goes all-out with outdoor holiday decor, but when your apartment is but one window in a massive complex, it's tough to share all that holiday love with the wider world.
Now, though, I live in a small building, just a couple units, & my apartment is right up front, with huge bay windows that overlook the street. I was thrilled to be able to finally bust out some cheapo Halloween decorations & tell all of Tremont that a holiday-lover lives here, so I made a trip to the local dollar store & decided upon a gangly paper skeleton surrounded by bat silhouettes. They look wonderfully spooky with the changing leaves out the window in front of them - the ultimate fall scene.
But the other day, I noticed an addition to my faux Halloween scene - an addition that was very much alive. It was, shall we say, a spider of curious size. Curiously massive size, that is.
Of all the things I fear, spiders are near the top of the list - right after, like, cancer & car crashes. I deeply, deeply loathe spiders. After I see one, I feel goosebumpy for the next half an hour, like they're crawling in my hair or stuck in my clothes. When I see one spider, I remember that the world is full of spiders, & then I basically just want to curl up in a ball under the covers - except there could be spiders there, too. No place is safe.
This spider has, like, settled in. It's spun a big ole web in the corner of the front window, & it spends much of its time just (literally) hanging around & being scary. When it's not resting peacefully/creepily in the center of its web, it's scurrying around & wiggling its stupid, scary little spider legs, reminding me that it is very fast-moving. A friend tells me this variety of spider is harmless, but it gives off distinct vibes of wanting to capture me in its web & eat me slowly, so I'm not really buying her science.
No, really. This spider is scary, you guys. I know I have a tendency to exaggerate, especially when it comes to arachnid size (my mom & go-to spider murderer is nodding along here), but I promise this is not one of those times. It's so big that you can actually see it in that photo above, hovering just a few inches over the top bat on the right-hand side. It's so big that if I saw it without a pane of glass to separate us, I would very likely pass out from fear. It's so big that in the closeup I took of it, below, you can see the tiny hairs on its many legs.
In an attempt to try to make myself less terrified of my new spider roommate, I named it. I call him Mr. Cunningham, although the same friend pointed out that it's actually probably a female spider, one who will lay an egg sack & then wander off to die. Although I like the idea of this spider being dead, I very much dislike the idea of it leaving a billion tiny spider spawn in my window well. In fact, I might've cried when my friend told me this.
The other day, Mr. Cunningham seemed to have disappeared; she was nowhere to be found. You might think I'd be happy to see her go, but in reality, I was in a panic. Where is she? She could be anywhere! Did she get into my apartment? Is she hanging out atop my car? Is she dangling from the trees over the driveway? Is she in my hair? It was like playing a very-much-not-fun game of Where's Waldo?
But the next night. Mr. Cunningham was back, legs splayed & taunting me with their utter terrifyingness. (Not a word; see what spiders do to me?!) Every morning when I wake up, I check on her. If she's still there, it means she's not inside my apartment, & that means her babies aren't, either.
The least this bitch could do is throw me some rent money, especially if she's moving her whole damn family in.
Please pray for me, or at least send along a blowtorch.