A really huge, like three foot long spider! God how I hate spiders. I hate them in an I-feel-your-pain-Miss-Muffet kind of way. Especially when one comes crawling out from under my pajamas and across my bed as I am flinging off my bra and reaching for said jammies.
I'm not sure which was scarier for the family; my blood curdling scream as I threw my bra across the bedroom and went running down the hall (yes, wearing only my own crossed arms for cover), or the sight of the ginormous black spider racing across the bed. The husband came running to slay the beast, which was fabulous because flinging my bra at it did precious little get the situation under control. Truthfully, the bra has seen better days, so control is not something it excels at anyway.
My screams begat screams from the boy child, which begat screams from the husband as he hollered for something substantial to swat at the oh-my-God-how-long-are-those-legs-on-that-enormous-wow-is-that-a-brown-recluse-good-God-it's-ugly arachnid. It took a few good swats to kill that sucker. Of course, to add to the ick and shiver factor, the husband put the dead spider in a plastic bag so he can drop it by our exterminator's tomorrow to find out what kind it is. I'll tell you what kind it is - it's the kind that bit me last night and now it's dead, dead, dead and gone.
Now that I've seen the corpse, and made the incredibly misguided decision to look up spider identification websites (ooh, is that a pun?), it might be a restless night in bed. I hope it was a loner. Cancel the curds and whey and bring on the red wine.
Guess I'll just have to tuffet out.