That Time Dave Almost Killed Us With a Brain-Eating Spider

Only two years into my marriage, while I was sweeping the floor, a spider dropped down from the ceiling right in my face. I screamed. “DAVE, GET IT! GET ITTTTT!!”

I just want to make something clear: I am a feminist. And theoretically, I believe in killing my own spiders. Actually, I prefer to peacefully cohabitate with them or release them back into the wild. Because I am a peaceful feminist. I’ve even been known to allow a spider to live unmolested in my plants as long as he doesn’t lay eggs in my ears, because he’s killing mosquitoes and I’m lazy. But there is something about the spider sneak attack that reduces me to my primal core. I blame society, Disney Princesses and my parents. But despite all those years of therapy to overcome those crippling insecurities, the moment a spider drops from the ceiling onto my face, I LOSE MY EVER LOVIN MIND.

Dave rose to the challenge. He wrenched the broom from my hand and swept the spider right onto my nose. Like the creepy spider legs were actually touching my nostrils, gripping me with his eight, evil sticky legs. A shudder of horror ripped through my body and what happened next was a blur. I only know, because later, when I asked Dave how his legs go so bruised he told me.

The moment the spider touched my nose, I simultaneously began to scream, claw at my face and kick Dave in the shins. “WHAT THE HELL?! IT’S IN MY FACE!!” I may have said other words, words that you shouldn’t read on the internet. Words like “divorce” and “shank you in the throat.” I kicked him in the legs again, stripped my shirt off and demanded that Dave inspect my ears for spider eggs. He didn’t. When I finally recovered from the trauma of a spider touching my face and returned my shirt to it’s proper place, by which I mean the trash because I could never wear that shirt again knowing that a spider had touched it. I told Dave he was fired.

“Seriously, you failed big time at spider rescuing. I mean, there is no scenario that could have been worse than the one the just occurred.”

He shrugged. “Whatever, aren’t you a feminist?”

I kicked him again and ran away.

Nearly five years later, as we ate dinner, a spider dropped down from the ceiling right over Ellis’ head. I stood, tried to compose myself and managed a very calm,  “ERMAHGER! SPIDER! BABY! GET IT!!! !@(*#*%&#(*%!!!”

You think a spider in my face makes me lose my poo? Try a spider hanging over the golden halo head of the child I pushed from my very own vagina. That child. The one I made with a lot of chicken nuggets and late-night runs to Taco Bell. I endured a bloody tumor for her. And a spider was hanging over her head. It was probably poisonous and was going to lay eggs in her ears. And I didn’t have time to Google “toddler with spider eggs in ear canals”, because the threat was imminent and Siri was in the kitchen.

“DAVE!” I flailed my arms. “GET IT!”

Dave stood, reached up with his bare hands and brushed the spider onto Ellis’ back.

My only rational response was to strike him with all the force of my rage and scream, “THAT’S OUR CHILD!!”

Then, I began beating her back trying to eliminate the spider, who disappeared, probably into her ears. I picked her up out of her seat and began to remove her shirt. That’s when she emitted a low, concerned whine. “Mommy?”

Up until that moment, Ellis had remained silent. But I as I held her in my quivering arms, trying to make sure that the spider wasn’t burrowing into her brain, she whimpered, “Mommy?” And I stopped, I gave her a kiss and put her down. Then, I turned my rage back onto Dave.

“YOU ARE THE WORST!!” I screamed. “You put our child’s life in danger.”

“I was just trying to capture the spider so I could show her,” Dave said.

“Show her to her death, you mean.”

“Mommy?” Ellis said. I took a deep breath and sat down. I didn’t want to scar her any more than was necessary. Brain spiders are NOT something we mess with in this family.

“It’s okay sweetie, your daddy is clearly horrible at protecting you. I won’t let him put spiders on you ever again.” And then I glared at Dave.

“Mommy,” Ellis said. “Pider. AHHH!!” And she waved her chubby arms over her head. “Pider!”

“Did mommy freak out like a goober?” Dave asked.

“Yes,” Ellis nodded. “Pider! AHH!”

The next time, I’m just going to let the spiders lay eggs in her ears.

UPDATE: Now with video.

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