i've been told that i used to be totally fine with spiders when i was very small, cos i hadn't learned to be afraid of them. i'd apparently scoop big hairy monsterous ones up and enthusiastically present them to my petrified father, who had to 'rescue' them from my clumsy little hands and take them outside (while trying to show no fear, but secretly coming out in a cold sweat).
but somehow or other, i got really frightened of them, just as my dad learned to get over his fear. it all turned around so that i'd be the one panicking, and he'd be the one calmly saving me from the vicious many-eyed 8 legged-ones who liked to stagger excitedly around the bathtub and dangle menacingly from my bedroom ceiling of an evening.
then, one day when i was 16, i was at home from school revising for my exams, and i reached for a text book from a pile that were haphazardly stacked just out of my line of sight, and feeling a tickle, turned to see the biggest hairiest terror of a creature that ever gnashed and marauded its way across the british isles, standing fearlessly on my hand (probably best working out how he could best bite it off one one big chunk).
and i screamed and screamed like the biggest blouse-wearing big girl wearing a big blouse that you ever did see. and jumped about 4 foot in the air (i'm short, so i didn't quite hit the ceiling, but it was close). and flailed about a lot. and wept and cried and maybe even peed just a teeny tiny bit. and needless to say the spider thought better of mauling me, and retreated swifto-pronto from my dulcit tones and zealoused thrashing. and eventually i ran out of adrenaline, and calmed down a bit.
and after i'd got what was left of my emotional **** together, i decided that i kinda really actually needed to revise, and would prefer not to fail my GCSE's if i could avoid it. especially not over a boody spider. and that 'help' was rather unhappily ensconced in his 12 step rehab program, and was so not likely to be forthcoming in the next 8 hours or so. and that if i didn't act soon, the spider could go anywhere
and i wouldn't know where he'd gone, so he could theoretically just jump out on me again whenever, wherever he fancied.
so i stealthily i worked out where the spider-dude was, procured a pair of rubber gloves a broom handle, the biggest bucket of a drinking glass and thickest sheet of cardboard that i could find, and somehow managed to trap myself a wee beastie. and then i looked at it a bit. and swore at it a bit. and tried to keep my heart from getting out through my throat for a bit. and we gave each other the evils and sized each other up a bit.
and then i unlocked the front door, took a deep breath, grabbed the glass and card, ran across the house at the speed of a puma, dropped the whole lot in the middle of the garden with a shreik, commando rolled over the bewildered looking cat who was leasurely licking his bum on the lawn (ok, maybe not the commando bit) ran back inside, slammed the door, took about 5000 deep breaths, watched a theraputic episode of neighbours, and then got on with my revising.
basically, i coped. cos i sort of had not much else by way of choice. and since then, spiders... i dunno... not quite such a big deal. still not ideal, i wouldn't snog one or anything, but after i survived the king of all spiders trying to eat me, singlehandedly, and bested him, i realised it really wasn't half as bad as it could have been. like.... there weren't two of them- and they didn't have machetes or dress me in pink and make me watch spongebob squarepants or nuffink.
ok, i don't know exactly why i'm rambling this. but anyway, yes. true story.