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There is a spider in my car.
It’s a crafty spider, I can tell. It didn’t show itself until I was already driving, so I would be distracted while it bared it’s huge venom-dripping fangs and pointed them directly at me and my children. Some Brown Recluse (venemous) spiders have been spotted in my neighborhood. This spider is tiny, like a pencil point with legs, but since I watch far too much National Geographic, I know better than to be fooled by it’s small size. The little ones are even more deadly than their poisonous parents. Clearly this is a baby recluse, and it has come to terrorize me and my family for it’s own sick entertainment.

It's headed right for us.

It’s unnatural to have eight legs and five hundred eyes.

Initially, I tried to slam the nasty beastie against the drivers side window. I missed, and as a result (I almost drove us into a ditch) the monster disappeared on a silken strand next to my seat, angry and out for revenge.

Now it could be ANYWHERE.

I pull over and privately freak out. I don’t want my children to know the grave danger hiding, laying in wait for a single moments lack of acuity, to strike.

I go to the back of the car and take one of my winter gloves (turning it inside out to check for spiders before I put it on) and open my door, quickly sweeping the last known location of the spider. It wasn’t there. Since I can’t use my hand to poke around on the drivers side (thats that it wants) I look for sticks to provide a more thorough search.
J says:
“Mom, I’m late for school, and it’s just a little spider”.
Just a little spider. He’s turning into quite the little smartass.
I remind him that he will not be so smarmy when I’m rushing him to the hospital for a spider bite.
Judging by the look on his face, he will not be convinced until there is venom coursing through his veins.

I open the door and begin my search for the tiny savage stalking us. Clearly this thing is out for blood, I saw the look in it’s eight thousand eyes as it made it’s escape- angry and venomous- laying in wait for me to give up the hunt and continue the drive to school.
Not going to happen, you tiny horror.
Not until I see your cold dead little body, Mr. Spider.

It’s nowhere to be found. I poke around on the drivers side door, in all the little crevices and pockets. I scream like a girl every time I uproot a dust mote and it floats to the ground. I stick my stick under the seat, (find myself suddenly $1.75 richer) and take out the floor mat (with two sticks). This is one wily spider.

Then, suddenly, the thought occurs to me— what if it was in the back…. WITH MY CHILDREN.

I play it cool.

I casually open their doors and ask them if either of them has seen the spider. (Perhaps sitting on their jugular, poised to bite.) They seem very cavalier about having a loose spider in the car.
Too cavalier.
J says to me-
“I’ll keep an eye out, Mom”
Smartass.
I make a note to myself to make sure they both stay conscious. National Geographic says venom can cause this kind of behavior.

A small sly spider could be anywhere in the back seat of my car. It’s so full of toys and general kid crap that I could smuggle a prisoner off Rikers Island underneath my children’s feet. I start poking the mound of kid crap with my stick. Buzz Lightyear says:
“You’re an asshole if you think you’re ever going to find that tiny little spider in all this shit”
Batman agrees.
Yet I poke on. J begins to wear a look that says “Please let me be adopted.”. Eventually it seems clear to me that Buzz is right. If the spider has taken up residence in the toy pile, I could poke forever and never find him.

I climb back into the drivers seat and start up the car.
I see the spider everywhere. I can feel it climbing on my body, in my hair. J is concerned—
“Why do you keep slapping yourself like that Mommy?”
Right. Like he doesn’t see the spider that’s relentlessly torturing me.
Maybe they’re in cahoots.

This is me.

This is totally me.

I get the kids to school and out of the car in record time. J is extremely late, and irritably tells the school secretary he’s late because:
“Mommy kept hitting herself and couldn’t drive right.”
Ahhhh… Kids say the darndest things, don’t they?
Silly child, get to class.

I’m sure they won’t investigate further into that allegation.

When I get to K’s preschool, I leave the drivers side window open when I take her inside, both as a surrender and an invitation to the spider to leave.
I know, however, that it’s still in there somewhere, waiting, when I get back in the drivers seat to go home.
It must be communicating with me telepathically. Miscreants like him can do that sort of thing.

Once again the spider is everywhere. My hands are flying like I know some kind of martial arts, and I’m murmuring threats to the invisible spider like that will somehow keep the invader at bay.
Spiders don’t even have ears. National Geographic says so.

images (32)

They’re everywhere.

Everyone on the road got a good look at the crazy lady talking to herself while she batted away imaginary spiders. It’s a small town, so Im thinking about sending out a blanket apology and explanation. I do have a fantastic talent for making things worse.

Once home, I give up. The car now belongs to the spider, I’ll walk to the bus stop to pick up J this afternoon, and they can just keep K until the husband can get her on his way home from work. He can drive the spider ridden car to the dealership tonight, and we’ll trade the car in for something spider free.

I wash my hands of it.
Literally, I washed my hands. I took like 6 showers.

 

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