Just as my wife was was bringing dinner to the table see cried, “Roach!” This as we all know is the man of the house’s call to action. I shout where as I reach for a suitable insect death device. She points down and says, “There, but hurry it is going under that chair.” She spins the big armchair next to the couch out of the way. With no shoes handy, I grab the top magazine from the plethora of them semi-neatly fanned across the coffee table.
By now Donna has her bug tracker radar locked on the intruder and has correctly ascertained that it is a large spider. Like most modern warplanes her radar can track and identify several targets at once, so she orders me to drop the newest Southern Living I had picked up and replace it with last week’s Time.
I’m grateful it is a slow moving spider, I have a chance at that, those palmetto bug/roaches move very fast and I usually end up slapping the floor several times right where the bug used to be before it squeezes under the baseboard making good its escape.
By now the large black, 1-1/2″ long, spider is under one of the end tables which limits my arm travel. I make several ineffective swats at it and I am beginning to think it might get away when I get lucky and it zigs right under where I’m swinging.
I think I need some spider swatting lessons from Garfield.
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