I think I've told this yarn on another thread, but since this thread is called 'Spiders', I fear it won't do any harm
to repeat it.
I live in the UK and the largest of spiders that I've come across currently reside in the eaves of my garage.
One of them is called 'Boris' and he's fairly big and would struggle to fit in an average-sized matchbox.
But once when we were on holiday (vacationing -for our American brothers and sisters!) in Texas, I was accidentally
introduced to Boris' big brother.
My wife, son and I were staying in a motel in Houston and sometime in the early evening and for unknown reasons,
my better-half decided to look under the bed. There in the shadows lay Goliath, a hand-sized Arachnid who seemed
to be enjoying the coolness of the air-conditioned room.
Usually when a spider is seen skittering across the floor at home, my wife tends to move quickly and if there's no slipper
at-hand, she'll call for me with a sense of urgency. This time, I believe she realised Goliath demanded more respect.
Casually relating to me that a monster was sharing our room, I rose from reading a brochure for our next-day trip to the
Space Centre and took a look under the bed.
To estimate the size, I'd suggest using the Latin term 'fuckin' massive'... my usual machismo that is displayed as I rescue
my lady from the grips of these eight-legged beasts -I realised, just wouldn't cut it. No grabbing and quickly taking it to the
garden would do, no calm voice to my wife as the spider was sent packing would suffice, Goliath commanded that I fought
him head-on.
'Bring me my shield' are the words from a chivalric hymn and so slowly reaching for a motel-branded towel, I prepared myself
for the battle ahead. I'm at a loss to give the reader a full descriptive literary of what happened next -possibly because nothing
alarming really happened, but suffice to say, the multi-eyed grotesque was wrestled into the cloth and with a focus I reserve
for getting to a pub-counter or the time I actually locked BIAD in his shed, I made haste towards the motel room's door.
With a deft flick of my wrist, Goliath was hurled from my overnight kingdom and dropped unceremoniously onto the concrete
balcony walkway, sweat poured from my body as it occurred to me that I'd just saved my beloved and only child. Goliath seemed
incapable of reading my relief and merely showed his contempt by slowly unfurling his many appendages and walking away.
Somewhere far off and for reasons they'd never truly understand, burly Vikings were toasting my courage and offering their versions
of how to rebuke the the terrors that hide under places of slumber. For me... I went back to finishing my lukewarm bottle of soda
and to ruminate on why the heading on the brochure was spelled 'Center' instead of 'Centre'.
Ninurta would agree, evil never sleeps... it just waits under places you do.
to repeat it.
I live in the UK and the largest of spiders that I've come across currently reside in the eaves of my garage.
One of them is called 'Boris' and he's fairly big and would struggle to fit in an average-sized matchbox.
But once when we were on holiday (vacationing -for our American brothers and sisters!) in Texas, I was accidentally
introduced to Boris' big brother.
My wife, son and I were staying in a motel in Houston and sometime in the early evening and for unknown reasons,
my better-half decided to look under the bed. There in the shadows lay Goliath, a hand-sized Arachnid who seemed
to be enjoying the coolness of the air-conditioned room.
Usually when a spider is seen skittering across the floor at home, my wife tends to move quickly and if there's no slipper
at-hand, she'll call for me with a sense of urgency. This time, I believe she realised Goliath demanded more respect.
Casually relating to me that a monster was sharing our room, I rose from reading a brochure for our next-day trip to the
Space Centre and took a look under the bed.
To estimate the size, I'd suggest using the Latin term 'fuckin' massive'... my usual machismo that is displayed as I rescue
my lady from the grips of these eight-legged beasts -I realised, just wouldn't cut it. No grabbing and quickly taking it to the
garden would do, no calm voice to my wife as the spider was sent packing would suffice, Goliath commanded that I fought
him head-on.
'Bring me my shield' are the words from a chivalric hymn and so slowly reaching for a motel-branded towel, I prepared myself
for the battle ahead. I'm at a loss to give the reader a full descriptive literary of what happened next -possibly because nothing
alarming really happened, but suffice to say, the multi-eyed grotesque was wrestled into the cloth and with a focus I reserve
for getting to a pub-counter or the time I actually locked BIAD in his shed, I made haste towards the motel room's door.
With a deft flick of my wrist, Goliath was hurled from my overnight kingdom and dropped unceremoniously onto the concrete
balcony walkway, sweat poured from my body as it occurred to me that I'd just saved my beloved and only child. Goliath seemed
incapable of reading my relief and merely showed his contempt by slowly unfurling his many appendages and walking away.
Somewhere far off and for reasons they'd never truly understand, burly Vikings were toasting my courage and offering their versions
of how to rebuke the the terrors that hide under places of slumber. For me... I went back to finishing my lukewarm bottle of soda
and to ruminate on why the heading on the brochure was spelled 'Center' instead of 'Centre'.
Ninurta would agree, evil never sleeps... it just waits under places you do.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.