“SPIDER!!!! There’s a spider in the car!” I shrieked, jerking the steering wheel to the right as though I could somehow drive away from the thing even though it was inside the car.
This actually had the positive effect of moving us over to the side of the road, which was probably a good idea so I didn’t end up explaining to some police officer why I caused a ten car collision because I was threatened by a man-eating spider the size of a freckle in my SUV.
The killer spider was blocking my exit on the left or I certainly would have abandoned my car and my son to escape its six-legged clutches. I slammed on the brakes and leaned over until I was in my son’s lap.
“Let me out,” I demanded, fumbling with the passenger door.
“Oh, Jeez, Mom,” he said. “Just grab the thread and toss it out the window.” This is why he would win the TV show “Survivor” and I would perish on the island in the first week.
Summoning all my courage, I leaned back over, lowered the window and grabbed the thread as told. But when I did, the spider instantly dropped to the floor. Or my foot. Or my leg. I couldn’t actually see where the thing went but I knew none of the options were good ones.
I shrieked again and started stomping my foot frantically. I wasn’t sure if I got the spider, but I certainly killed the floor mat.
Eventually I ran out of steam, sat back and started the car up again.
“Good for you, Mom,” praised my son. “You confronted your fear. That’s great!”
He beamed at me and then looked around. I had turned the car around and was going back the other way.
“Hey, where are we going?” he asked. “I thought you were taking me to school?”
“I am taking you to school,” I replied. “Right after I go home and swap cars with Dad.”