When I disappear from this site, it won’t be because I won the lottery.
It will be because the spiders finally got me.
And he did nothing to stop it.
For the record, I am making great strides in conquering both my (perfectly reasonable, totally justified, 100% proportional to the danger) fear of spiders (those demons that want to jump in your eye and tangle their legs in your eyelashes and bite your eyeball). I even… you know what? Have a look at this, because someone needs to be proud of me, dammit:
ME: Are you proud of me?
HIM: … Sure?
ME: I killed a spider in the shower! All by myself!
HIM: Oh. Good for you.
HIM: (goes about his business like I didn’t just risk my life in battle)
ME: I’m surprised you didn’t hear me. He was all walking—with all his legs, you know?—right up to the shower door and I screamed “You can’t sit with us!” and beat him to death with your shower gel. You’ll need a new one, by the way.
HIM: (staring) No, I didn’t hear that.
ME: Then it sort of slid down the wall, so I aimed the shower head at it—to drown it—and hopped out for a tick.
HIM: … O-kay…
ME: I also need a new shower puff.
I was in the bathroom the other day… in such a position that I couldn’t fight back at that exact moment, when an eight-legged nope-demon scrambled across the wall in a menacing fashion. I must have cut quite an intimidating figure as I leaped up and yipped, because it ducked behind the curtain and I lost sight of it. When I worked up the nerve to go looking (I know, I’m so fucking brave. Still waiting on that medal from the War Department) it was… gone.
Do you understand? A fucking hellspawn was sighted in my bathroom and then vanished. Obviously, the only rational course of action was to burn the house down, then sell the rubble and move across the country. But Husband isn’t terribly rational about these things, so instead I turned on every light in both the bathroom and the bedroom. And in the hall, for good measure. My logic was thus: if it came out of hiding, he would find no more dark corners to lurk in and would know that I was looking for him. In mortal fear of the mighty huntress of legend, he would wiggle his way back out whatever hole allowed him access to my home.
Or just die of fright, I’m not picky.
Long time readers are already aware of the flaw in my genius plan, but let me spell it out for the n00bs: MY HUSBAND IS A JERK-FACED CRAP WEASEL! (See: the thing about lights)
Getting ready for bed just a couple of hours later, I found every single light upstairs had been turned off. My bedroom was a minefield of potential lurking spiders with a grudge.
Told you. Jerk-face.
ME: (handing him new toiletries) I need you to put these away.
ME: Because someone turned off the light in there. So now our little friend (gestures) could be anywhere.
HIM: (sighs, turns on light) Oogeda-boogeda!
ME: What was that?
HIM: Trying to scare it.
ME: Oh, like they’ve ever been scared of you.
HIM: You know what they say… it’s more scared of you than you are of it.
ME: Who says that?
HIM: … They?
ME: Are “they” idiots?
HIM: Probably. But I’m still not leaving the light on all night.
ME: Fine, we’ll just die in our beds, then.
HIM: You first. (kisses) G’night!