I may have killed a spider
Our fancy new apartment, the one with the new oven, has two full-sized bed rooms and to full size bathrooms. We have one bathroom we shower and brush our teeth in, and one bathroom adjacent to the “office.” The second bathroom really just allows me a place to take a leak during late-night hack sessions in the “office,” without waking EC.
It’s a nice set up, I recommend it.
Last night, while spacing out (while taking a leak) I notice a run-of-the-mill slighty furry little black spider up near the ceiling. The spider was just hanging out, probably spacing out just like I was. The bathroom isn’t tiny, but it certainly wasn’t big enough for the two of us. I decided against just smacking him with a paper towel, as the chances I would fall off the counter and severely injure myself were too high at that time of night.
I grabbed the bug spray from underneath the kitchen sink, which is where I assume all households without children keep their toxins, and waltzed back to the bathroom. In preparing for my attack, I stared directly at and inspected the nozzle of the sprayer to make sure it sprayed the right way, briefly contemplating how difficult it would be to explain to my wife why I was screaming and flushing water through my eyes in the sink, should I somehow trigger the spray. Like inspecting the barrel of your own gun by peering down it, it was a near-Darwin Award waiting to happen.
Combating household insects is serious business, and as such I took the ready position.
The spray didn’t look like it hit him directly but the spider did fall from the ceiling immediately; to be thorough I sprayed where he was on the ceiling for a good two seconds before calling off the attack.
I’ve yet to find the body, a dime-sized shriveled up spider carcas, which means one of two things:
- I didn’t kill him, and now he knows what I look like.
- I did kill him, and something else, something bigger already disposed of the body
Either way, I might just stick to the other bathroom for now.