A Tale… I have an

A Tale…
I have an unreasonable fear of spiders.

It’s actually a little more specific than a simple fear. I’m not afraid of little spiders, or of daddy longlegs spiders, or any other tiny indoor spiders, for that matter. What really starts to boil my blood are the thick limbs, dark abdomen and the googly little beady eyes that stare up at me. Just thinking about it sends me into the shivers.

I think walking through a spiders web, has to be one of the most traumatic things that I have to go through. The way I react is both unreasonable, and stunning. I thrash about, trying to rid myself of the sticky substance, while also trying to rid myself of the belief that I have a huge stinking great arachnid perched on my shoulder ready to jump at my jugular. I am told that my facial expressions are something to behold. Pure unreasonable terror stretches my features until the only word that can be formed sounds similar to “Unghhh”.

I am not, however, afraid of heights, closed spaces, or mice. A combination of all three might have me a little concerned, but it wont have me jumping around hitting myself like a flea-ridden monkey.

I’m not quite sure how I developed this fear. I didn’t have any scarring experiences as a child. I’ve never been bitten. I’ve never had much to do with spiders at all, really. However, at the site of a huntsman, funnelweb or redback… my knees turn to jelly. I point at it with a long stick, and call for somebody to save me.

Like today, for example.
Mowing the lawn.
Start the mower, no problems, mow the nature strip, and the far side of the driveway. Mow down the side of the house, and around the front garden bed. Not a problem.
Trouble comes when its time for me to mow between the lovely native trees that dot our garden and create a sweet little haven for ugly nasty spiders to hang out, and be cool with all their spider friends.

I’ve developed a few methods to dealing with this, as I don’t want to be seen as a Big Wuss. So… I mow like the wind… gather much pace… aim the mower to the other side… and throw my whole body into pushing it through the other side – hands free.

Most of the time, it works well and I can then continue with my mowing routine.
Trouble comes with the bloody lawn mower gets stuck right under one of these mammoth webs. I just know there’s a spider somewhere, lurking amongst the leaves, and he’s probably laughing himself sick.

That’s when I require the services of a Big Broom, or a Helpful Mother.

(Why is it that my mum is completely calm when handling a fist sized, bloody toothed spider… yet cant climb a foot stool for vertigo? I don’t get it…)

Today… the Big Broom was busy. Today… I had the humiliation of calling for my mummy. She looked at me. She looked at the motionless mower, contentedly humming away underneath a tree. She looked back at me, and shook her head and rolled her eyes.
As her laughter died down, I heard her saying:

“You’re a good kid. But you’re a Big Wuss”
I have an unreasonable fear of spiders.

It’s actually a little more specific than a simple fear. I’m not afraid of little spiders, or of daddy longlegs spiders, or any other tiny indoor spiders, for that matter. What really starts to boil my blood are the thick limbs, dark abdomen and the googly little beady eyes that stare up at me. Just thinking about it sends me into the shivers.

I think walking through a spiders web, has to be one of the most traumatic things that I have to go through. The way I react is both unreasonable, and stunning. I thrash about, trying to rid myself of the sticky substance, while also trying to rid myself of the belief that I have a huge stinking great arachnid perched on my shoulder ready to jump at my jugular. I am told that my facial expressions are something to behold. Pure unreasonable terror stretches my features until the only word that can be formed sounds similar to “Unghhh”.

I am not, however, afraid of heights, closed spaces, or mice. A combination of all three might have me a little concerned, but it wont have me jumping around hitting myself like a flea-ridden monkey.

I’m not quite sure how I developed this fear. I didn’t have any scarring experiences as a child. I’ve never been bitten. I’ve never had much to do with spiders at all, really. However, at the site of a huntsman, funnelweb or redback… my knees turn to jelly. I point at it with a long stick, and call for somebody to save me.

Like today, for example.
Mowing the lawn.
Start the mower, no problems, mow the nature strip, and the far side of the driveway. Mow down the side of the house, and around the front garden bed. Not a problem.
Trouble comes when its time for me to mow between the lovely native trees that dot our garden and create a sweet little haven for ugly nasty spiders to hang out, and be cool with all their spider friends.

I’ve developed a few methods to dealing with this, as I don’t want to be seen as a Big Wuss. So… I mow like the wind… gather much pace… aim the mower to the other side… and throw my whole body into pushing it through the other side – hands free.

Most of the time, it works well and I can then continue with my mowing routine.
Trouble comes with the bloody lawn mower gets stuck right under one of these mammoth webs. I just know there’s a spider somewhere, lurking amongst the leaves, and he’s probably laughing himself sick.

That’s when I require the services of a Big Broom, or a Helpful Mother.

(Why is it that my mum is completely calm when handling a fist sized, bloody toothed spider… yet cant climb a foot stool for vertigo? I don’t get it…)

Today… the Big Broom was busy. Today… I had the humiliation of calling for my mummy. She looked at me. She looked at the motionless mower, contentedly humming away underneath a tree. She looked back at me, and shook her head and rolled her eyes.
As her laughter died down, I heard her saying:

“You’re a good kid. But you’re a Big Wuss”

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