This is a true story. Only the level of profuse swearing and cursing has been toned down in order to portray myself in a more ladylike manner. How to remove a large huntsman spider from your son’s bedroom: the brave, nature loving woman’s guide.
- Chase it around the room with a large cup and piece of paper in an attempt to capture it in the cup and seal it with the paper. It works with smaller spiders all the time. Why should a spider the size of my own hand be any different?
- After 15 minutes of chasing and launching myself off the furniture, swear and curse profusely as spider evades my every attempt at capture and relocation.
- Feel like a total loser because I can’t catch something that is 1/1000th my size.
- Spider smiles smugly and taunts me by waving a leg in my direction. Little smarty pants thinks he’s more intelligent than me. I’ll show him.
- Crouch down close enough to spider to have a civilised conversation, while my thighs remain on high alert should the need to launch backwards three metres in one flying leap arise. I hope he’s not one of those jumping spiders who can jump further than three metres. If he is, I’m screwed.
- Talk to spider in a soothing, calming voice. Try to convince it that I am a friend and wish it no harm and that it is best for everyone if it cooperates and leaves the house voluntarily.
- Spider shakes its head. I take it as a refusal.
- Swear and curse profusely because either the spider doesn’t believe me, or my powers of persuasion are sadly lacking.
- Spider makes a run for it, from a position of safety to one of possible capture.
- Feel my confidence levels rise because the spider has now exposed itself and is on flat section of wall that I can easily reach.
- Creep up on spider from behind because some idiot told me that spiders can’t see from that angle, despite the fact they have four pairs of eyes.
- Spider sees my approach and scurries away, out of reach.
- Make a mental note to send that idiot a box full of huntsmen for Christmas. Let’s see how many he can sneak up on from behind.
- Spider moves again, behind my son’s bedside table.
- Shit. I’m screwed. I can’t leave him here and I can’t capture him either. I’m doubly screwed.
- Freak myself out every time I see something move because I have managed to convince myself that the spider’s entire family is now hot on my trail and seeking vengeance for a perceived persecution of said spider.
- Swear and curse profusely. Throw cup in tremendous outburst of bad temper and excessive frustration.
- Spider freaks out and attaches itself to the underside of a bedside table.
- Think laterally for 30 seconds. I need a creative solution.
- BING! Glowing light bulb appears above my head in cartoon balloon.
- Drag very heavy bedside table out of house with spider attached underneath, using 4 year old son as a lookout for possible escaping spider.
- Feel smug at brilliant relocation plan, and feel the start of an old torn ligament injury in my lower back flare up as a result of dragging ridiculously heavy piece of furniture entire length of house.
- Leave bedside table in front garden until spider has recovered from bumpy ride and decides to leave of his own free will.
- Three hours later, it should be alright to bring bedside table back into house. Get large, non-spider fearing man to double check just in case.
- Celebrate my successful capture and relocation with a hot cup of tea.
- Do three sessions of yoga the next day to mend back injury.
How to remove a large huntsman from your son’s bedroom: the smart woman’s guide.
- Call in large, non-spider fearing man and point in general vicinity of spider.
- Leave the room and go make yourself a cup of tea or coffee.
If they were this cute, I wouldn’t mind sharing my house with them.