When you have an undiagnosed wierdness, watching House is not the best idea. Am now paranoid.

It seems to be the general consensus that I have an undiagnosed weirdness. The only clue I have so far is that it seems to be hereditary, if my brothers are anything to go by.

As evidence, this is the reply I got from my youngest brother on inviting him to dinner:

Billytea: Let's have Brendan over for dinner.
Wallybee: We can't invite him over, he's weird.
Billytea: Have you looked at me lately?
Wallybee: No!
Billytea: Look at me now, behold the weirdness!
Wallybee: No, no no! Don't make me!
Billytea: Look upon the visage of the one true William!!
Wallybee: I'm blinded! Help, help!

I just assumed Connie was dealing with some very large spiders, possibly armed themselves.

I wish . . .

No, many years ago, when the arachniphobia was less controlled, Hubby came into the kitchen because of the language I was using and the odd clicking noise he heard. He found me backed against a wall trying to chamber a round into a pistol. (Our handguns are kept unloaded in locked cases either up on high shelves or under the bed. We have no kids and no one but us knows where they're stored.) Fortunately, I was having problems getting the round chambered.

I had turned around and seen a spider less than two feet from my face. In my defense, the thing was half an inch across in body, fuzzy and had bright blue eyes that looked at me. And blinked.

Not the dreaded blue-eyed blinking spider! The .38 is their only weakness!

I see that I am in the minority again.

Poor little spider.

::is sad::

Yeah, if you were one of my camp girls, I'd teach you how to capture and release it (with the tumbler method mentioned upthread).

Don't be sad. She's still there in her pretty little web underneath a sign that says:

Caution Dangerous Spider

Arana Peligrosa

I'm only advocating her death because of her poisonousness.

Normally I catch-and-release as well.

OK it's quitting time and my boss never called me back. I guess Ms. Widow gets to live for tonight. I think death is an acceptable option for venomous spiders in public places, I just don't want to be the one to do it. Mostly because she could bite me.

I have a wee boy in my class whose English isn't too hot, frankly - and on top of that he's got this astonishing wide-eyed unworldly kick-me-now vulnerability more often associated with toddlers than six year olds (although he isn't picked on, because we mostly don't have that kind of crap going on). But Oh My God, how he adores all things with more than four legs. He may not be able to spell many things, but damn sure he can spell Spider and Ant and Beetle. And when asked to pretend to be an animal (other kids going for cat, dog, tiger, maybe dinosaur - one notable electric eel), he did a very impressive beetle impression. And when told to think of an animal we might find in a zoo? Stick Insect. He's going to find our trip to the Crocodile Farm very disappointing, I think.

(my feelings about all things with more than four legs are considerably less warm and fuzzy, and considerably more high-pitched.)

Awww, little bug boy. He is the geeky cute.