the tarantula

Anyone who has known me for 5 minutes knows I am not especially fond of spiders. From quite an early age, Thomas learned to identify the characteristic shriek from the next room: 'Was it a spider, mummy?' The typical American house spider was enough to terrify me. Yes, I know it's completely irrational. (In my defense, I will say that I am not afraid of snakes, although I have respected the personal space of the rattlesnakes I have encountered.)

Thomas has recently been promoted to spider-slayer. Although I could usually muster the courage to dispose of American-size house spiders, British house spiders are something else entirely. I was amazed to see Thomas, at six years old, happily chasing a medium-to-large spider around the dining room, and hitting it (eventually) with one of Lewis's shoes. Not only that, but he's very good with a brush and dustpan, and will get rid of them for me. Fantastic.

So a couple of weeks ago, when Iain spotted a spider in the tub, I knew we were in good hands. I stifled the usual shriek (easier to do, since I had been forewarned), although the spider in the tub was by far the biggest house spider I have ever seen. It was at least as big, if not bigger, than the spiders that make ground-to-tree-branch webs in Atlanta in the springtime. Thomas approached it fearlessly, armed with one of Lewis's crocs. An inadequate weapon for the task, I thought: only the Johnston & Murphy's will do for this one. Thomas held the shoe directly over the spider, and dropped it squarely on the loathsome creature. I doubted: I would have thought a really hard whack was necessary. Thomas had killed it with one blow, and without squashing it to a pulp. (This was lucky, in fact, because he could sweep it up and flush it; a smushed spider in the tub would have fallen under my jurisdiction. Phew!)

Later that day, Iain was telling a friend about the spider. 'Was it a tarantula?' he asked. 'No,' I replied; 'tarantulas are bigger.' Yes, I thought to myself, but not that much bigger.