We have an unwanted house guest. We have tried to get rid of her twice, but so far, no luck. Sometimes when I open the door, here she comes, crawling toward me with her thick, black legs. Other times, she hides under things.
No, this is not a person, and okay, it's not exactly our house. It's our mailbox. And the unwanted guest is--close your eyes tight--a hairy, black spider.
I found her a week ago. Okay, she found me. I was reaching in, all innocent-like, to get my mail, and the disgusting thing came out of nowhere. I was able to reach aound it to retrieve the letters.
The next day, I have Kevin pull the car up to the box. When I opened it, there it was. "Get it, get it!" I scream.
Kevin leans across the passenger seat and whacks at the mailbox door with newspaper.
"Did you get it?" I ask.
"I got it."
"Are you sure? Did you see a body?"
He claims he did.
All I know is, when I go to the mail box the next day? Hairy black spider. I should just reach in and squash it with something. I know I should. But . . . ick. I sneak the letters out and close the door.
The next day . . . I head to the mailbox with a can of Raid. Okay, you nasty thing, you've had it now. I open the door and spray. Heavily. There is an LA size smog around our yard. I close the door and spray the outside for good measure. I leave feeling like warrior woman. I have come. I have conquered.
The next day . . . my mail smells like Raid. Oh well. I shake each piece as I remove it. Just in case. My kids laugh at me from behind the window.
Today, I reach for the mail. I have all but forgotten the spider. But it hasn't forgotten me. If it isn't her, it's her twin. She comes crawling toward me on thick, black legs, the spider that won't die. Maybe I should just put out a "vacancy" sign out and invite all her relatives. Or maybe I'll just send Kevin out there with a shoe.