This may a scary statement to make, especially for those of you who know I live alone, but I have an accord never the less.
Well; actually i had an accord: now, not so much.
The opening act of aggression started yesterday while I was driving home on the North-Western motorway; a daddy-long leg spider swung from my sun visor causing me to swerve ever so slightly in my lane.
Understand this:I hate fucking spiders.
In recent years, however, I've grudgingly accepted they do a lot of good around the house, so as long as they leave me alone and don't invade my personal exclusion zones I'm pretty OK with the status-quo.
After my return from three weeks in Dunedin, any onlooker from afar would have been shocked to see me madly run from one side of the house to the other; raised broom in hand, swearing vehemently and loudly.
People: there is nothing as icky as walking into a simple strand of web in the dark.
During my three weeks away a couple of spiders had taken squatter rights above my shower, near the roof. After two days they didn't take the hint and leave so I ushered those two particular arachnids to the afterlife, only to find others return in their place.
Still, all this aside, I cleaned my space of webs, and awaited their response.
I contemplated the coexistence of man and spider over the next couple of days. I pondered our unspoken agreement, specifically around my personal space. I reasoned that they didn't pay rent and made a bloody mess about the place; but still, I hesitated.
But when that prick of a spider flung itself into the field of my peripheral vision, on its suicide mission toward my genital region, all thoughts of a peaceful outcome were moot.
Upon returning home, I nuked the fuckers!
