The Opposite of Peter Parker

Surprises can be delightful–absolutely delightful.

Things such as:
–nieces showing up for your birthday
–getting the part of Dolly
–someone caring about something you thought they were unaware of
–someone bringing dinner even when you’re not sick
–flowers on your porch
–someone forgiving you
–Thanksgiving celebrations with family
–people reading your blog

Of course not every kind of surprise is delightful–like the kind left by a neighborhood pet. Bad or uncomfortable news isn’t on the list either. And being startled or spooked by someone is definitely NOT a delightful kind of surprise.

Neither is finding a carefully constructed Mud Dauber nest on the handle of your Winder Dairy Farm cooler. I didn’t know that’s what it was until after the blessed event.

[Be sure to click on ‘more’ under the video when you visit that site. The process is actually astonishing. Paralyzing its prey seems a tad gruesome–but–if it means fewer spiders around the yard, please bring on the Mud Dauber, I say.]

Mud Daubers unite

I didn’t have any idea that the spiders that fell out of that little fist-sized mud condo were paralyzed. No, I did not. I say that only to explain the beginnings of a shriek that started in my knees and leaped out of my vocal chords in an unearthly shrivel-the-leaves-on-the-trees kind of way.

Not knowing that the spiders were paralyzed–and yes, there were grubs that fell out as well–but I wasn’t thinking straight and certainly wasn’t being reasonable and I thought that the spiders had invaded the occupied nest and were eating the grubs.

The spiders seemed to pour out of the cells which made it look like they were moving–which meant they were alive. [It seemed like they were alive — they definitely weren’t but again, that didn’t matter at all because of the state my brain was in.]

I don’t know why, but I suddenly remembered that I was on the phone and became enlivened by the thought that SBJ [he’s the one I was on the phone with] could tell me where some spider killer stuff was–cuz’ I needed some.

[Did I mention that the spiders were a greenish-yellow? All of them. And when I say all I mean AHHhhahhhhaAAAaahhhhhHll. Greenish-yellow miniature crab-looking spiders.]

So I ran like the gazelle that I am to the garage and grabbed the spider killer stuff–and went promptly back to the porch of hideousness and terror.

After spraying the occupants of the destroyed mud abode [with an excessive amount of spider killer] I scrambled into the house and slammed the door, locking it securely behind me to prevent any of them from entering.

I have this idea in my head

Have you ever had an idea in your head as a kid that you later discover is unreasonable? I have this idea in my head that when a spider is poisoned–but not quite enough to die–the poison turns into some kind of mega-chemical-spontaneous-growth-inducing substance that makes a spider the size of a small human. Also, strong, smart, and super angry because you tried to poison it.

A little bit like the opposite of what happened to Peter Parker. He was bitten by a spider and became Spider Man–a muscular, web spinning, fearless building-jumping hero. A spider–as I imagine it–would consume man-made chemicals and become–uhm–would become Man Spider Thing–huge. And able to open doors.

I eventually went outside–but not through the front door just in case they were all piled up against it.

They weren’t. They were in exactly the same spots I left them in.

Count your many blessings

And because I was considerably less horrified and a smidge bit fascinated by the quantity of arachnids, I decided to count them. One hundred and twenty-three. One hundred and twenty-stinking-three little spider carcasses. And three grubs. Of course I used a stick to put the little monsters into groups of ten. It’s easier to count that way–but I didn’t check and double-check the math. Which means the number could be off. So maybe only one hundred and twenty.

We don’t have a cooler on the porch anymore.