Let me set the stage for you: It was evening. I was at the computer, playing Hearthstone. Matt walks in to chatter with me about something or the other. He holds Ivy in his arms.
Suddenly, mid-sentence, he stops and says, “Oh that’s a whole lotta nope.”
I follow his upward gaze to see a spider about the size of a silver dollar on our ceiling. It is skittering around and getting wearily close to being just above my head. I jump out of my chair and move away from it.
“We need a broom,” I said. Matt looked at me in disgust.
“A broom? Are you crazy? That won’t kill it. We need something else.”
I look around frantically as the spider does what looks like the samba over our heads. An old sketchbook is at my feet. Perfect. I pick it up and look at Matt pathetically.
“I can’t reach it,” I whine. “Can you kill it?”
Matt is a super weenie about spiders. Pretty much any other sort of creepy crawly thing he can handle but he would just as soon set his car on fire than voluntarily kill a spider. He doesn’t outright laugh at my question but I can tell he wants to.
“I don’t have something to stand on.” I try once more to get out of this. Spiders don’t scare me as much as they scare Matt but that doesn’t mean I like killing them. Especially when they’re ginormous and right over my head.
“I can get you a milk crate,” Matt says dryly. Well, this is it. Guess I’m stuck killing this behemoth.
I carefully position myself, lethal sketchbook in hand, under the spider. I jump upwards, thrusting the sketchbook towards the ceiling at my full strength (e.g. “sponge”) and it hit the ceiling (and the spider) with a tremendous THWACK!
I jumped backwards just in time for the sketchbook to plummet down, leaving the dead body of the spider dangling by one smushed up leg. A second later, the body itself fell, landing somewhere on the brown carpet.
“We should probably pick that up,” I said.
“I’ll get you a tissue,” Matt said with a quick turnaround.