The spider was waiting for me when I went out to my car this morning, dangling serenely on a string of web from my gear shift to the radio. Actually, I think he may have died during the night as he didn’t move at all during the long minutes while I shuffled around in the driveway, screwing up my courage and coming this close to asking the garbageman to kill it for me. Eventually I hit him with my shoe and I am either a crack shot when it comes to whacking spiders with shoes or, like I said, he was already dead when I got there.
Now I just have to worry if he is actually a she, what the odds are that there are eggs to be found (Charlotte died right after she had her babies, right?).
Because if I am driving down the street and hordes of baby spiders begin to run out of my heater vents, I will actually drive the car into something and die in an horrific, fiery accident.