Sunday, April 24, 2011

Baby Spiders Are Worse

Wild animals and I don't really mix. Actually, it's not even just animals, it's also fish, insects, you name it. Basically, if it's living and undomesticated, you can pretty much guarantee it hates me and is waiting to ruin my life.

The first wild-creature trauma that I really remember was when I was about 8 years old and sitting on our porch waiting for the carpool to my ninja school, blissfully anticipating the bloody carnage I was sure to inflict on the other children.

It was then I noticed this random, earthy ball shape on the window sill at the front of the house. Naturally, my young mind began questioning it's identity and for some reason, my theories centered around completely positive things. It was a funny rock. It was an enchanted meteor. It was a furry, balled up animal. It was definitely not a nest of evil life sucking creatures plotting to destroy me.

So I poked it.

And then my life was ruined forever.

Because it was actually a fucking spider nest and suddenly hundreds of angry baby spiders charged up my arm.

My first reaction was to start smacking them off using the arm the infant spiders hadn't yet claimed, but it became evident that I was too severely out numbered to simply smack the spiders off a few at a time. My only option left was to flail around the lawn and hope that if the force wasn't enough to loosen their grip on me, that maybe instead they'd assume I had an abhorrent mental disease which would weaken their desire to eat me.

By the time my carpool arrived, I looked more like the survivor of an apocalypse as opposed to a kid who met some spiders.

And while I thought that I had survived the worst of it, it became obvious that the worst had yet to come. Because shortly after hopping into the car, and pulling away, there was this slight tingle on my skin, growing more and more noticeable, and had the very distinct feeling of hundreds of little legs crawling all over me.

In the backseat, I began searching for any stray spiders that had hidden themselves away before I could get to them, all while trying to maintain a cool, 8-year-old composure as to not alert the other people around me. But no matter which direction I tore my uniform in, I could never find any additional spiders.

And that basically went on all night.

While other kids were practicing their high blocks and low kicks, I was in the corner, slowly festering into a dementia caused by the sensation of creepy, crawly legs that I could not find.

...and then I died of mental instability. Because seriously, you don't survive that shit.