P Is For Phobia (It's okay to laugh...)

We are all familiar with the children’s nursery rhyme ‘Little Miss Muffet’, first published in 1805. I can relate to Miss Muffet, although I would have screamed while running away. In case it’s not obvious, I’m spider phobic, no matter how big or small the eight legged beasties, fear takes over and common sense walks out the door in disgust.

In most cases, I consider myself a rational woman, with a three digit IQ and a logical mind to boot. Firstly, a spider is much smaller than I am, secondly, they capture insects in their webs and lastly they have ecological value, all-in-all useful little buggers. There is really no explaining it, but they scare the living daylight’s out of me.

The "Little Miss Muffet"
scenario explained by Denslow
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In my humble opinion, my spider encounter was far more traumatic than Miss Muffet’s. I remember that it was a cold, sunny day. My alarm woke me at 7 O’clock and like every weekday, I begrudgingly headed for the bathroom and my wake up shower. After a good half-hour under the hot jets of water, I padded back to my bedroom, wrapped in my newly acquired soft bath-towel. That was as far as the comfort and luxury went in this house. For the first time since my student days, I was living in shared accommodation in north London. The tatty floral wallpaper and worn clashing carpeting screamed of the 50’s along with most of the furniture in the house.

As I entered my bedroom, I spotted what looked like a blotch of blood on my recently acquired pillow and pillowcase. Now as a child, I had suffered from nosebleeds but had eventually grown out of them. I drew closer to see exactly what it was and quickly retreated to the safety of the door. Unfortunately, it was not a nosebleed, but a big hairy spider that must have curled up beside me on my pillow. Then I can only assume that I must have rolled over in my sleep and squished my uninvited bed guest with my head. Even though the spider was as flat as a pancake and very dead, I screamed and then ran all the way back to the bathroom where I spent the next several hours washing my hair and scrubbing my scalp raw. Every time a strand of my hair brushed against my face, I’d scream.

I turned up to work a good four hours late, resembling a less than happy dried prune. It must have been a scary sight, as no one in the office approached my workspace to ask me why I was so late; then again, I gave no explanation. Usually a chatty person, I spent the rest of my workday in silence. Every now and again, I would jump in my chair, as my hair would tickle my face.

As I was getting ready to leave work, a brave colleague approached me and asked what had happened. Apart from the occasional twitch, I had started to see the funny side to the whole situation – except perhaps for the spider. So, I recounted my traumatic spider morning and my colleague found nothing better to do then joke that I’d probably squished the papa spider and now a jealous, vengeful mama spider was waiting for me at home. I laughed half-heartedly, but all the way home, I couldn’t quite shake the image of mama spider waiting for me.

I have a vivid imagination and by the time I arrived home, mama spider was the size of a large boulder with glowing red eyes and sharp fangs, just waiting to strike. As previously stated when fear takes over, common sense walks out the door. Speaking of which I was now standing in front of my bedroom door, heart pounding so loudly it resonated in my ears. I took a deep breath that came out as a nervous laugh, before opening the door.

I turned on the overhead light and let out the scream of all screams, while simultaneously removing my left shoe and repeatedly hitting the wall next to the light switch I’d just turned on. Where, believe it or not, mama spider was in fact waiting for me. I’m not a violent person by nature, I do have a temper, but it is always verbal, however verbally abusing a spider is not that effective, especially while screaming full throttle. Over the years, I’ve discovered that a good shoe is the best weapon against the eight-legged beasties. By the time I’d stopped hitting the wall, there wasn’t much left of mama. That was when the thought hit me… Mama spider and papa spider equals baby spiders, lots and lots of eight legged beasties.

I spent the next three hours lugging and pushing all the furniture that could pass through the doorframe into the hall. Then I hoovered every inch of my room and once I’d finished I hoovered it all over again, before pushing and lugging all the furniture back into my room.

Even though I was physically and mentally exhausted, I barely slept that night or the nights after. Every time I turned over the sheet would brush against me, sending me into a frenzy of action. First, I’d turn on my bedside lamp, second, I’d check under my duvet and sheet for vengeful orphaned baby spiders. Before, turning off the light and attempting to get some sleep. I must have repeated the process ten times, or more during the night, not to mention the following nights for the next couple of weeks!