You can’t kill it with fire when it’s in your car

I’m not a fan of spiders. Really not a fan at all.

To be fair, I’m not a fan of lots of different bugs. Like wasps.

Wasps are assholes. A wasp once made me crash my car into a light pole. The pole was okay; I was okay; the car was totaled.

After I did that, though, I learned my lesson. Instead of trying to kill a bug while the car is moving, now I pull over.

Imagine the scene: I was up in Madison, New Jersey. Late at night. A cold winter night. Before the dawn of cell phones. I had just left Drew University where I had been visiting my boyfriend at the time (now my husband), and about three blocks down the way, I spotted it.

A spider on my windshield.

On the INSIDE of my windshield.

Instead of running off the road, I waited, stretching my arms out as far as they could go so that I was as far from the windshield as possible. As soon as I could pull over in the snow, I did. I hopped out of the car, took off a shoe and stood on one foot in the snow bank, trying to kill the spider in the windshield.

I did it!

It was dead!

But then I was afraid to get back into the car because, and I know this is totally rational, once you kill a spider, all the other spiders know. They gang up on you. They get you. It’s like a gang fight in West Side Story.

Anyway, that spider was dead.

Since then, I’ve been lucky. Anytime I had a spider in the car, I also had a passenger who could remove it one way or the other.

Until the other day.

There was a spider.

In the car.

On the inside of the window.

Right next to me.

It was somewhere between the size of a pinhead and a VW Beetle. I can’t quite remember in the blur of fear.

But there it was.

And there I was.

Then, like magic, I got it out of the car! I refuse to say how, in case other spiders are reading this, but this image shows what may (or may not) have been its final view.


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