creepy crawly went too far

There are very distinct divisions of labor in my household--despite the fact that my husband is away from home frequently. These divisions are especially apparent when it comes to rodent and pest removal. Kev is responsible for the absolute destruction of all snakes and mice--especially the mice. I hate those blasted things. I, on the other hand, am responsible for the removal of all creepy crawly spiders.

These divisions became rock solid a few years ago. Kev, who had never been a friend of spiders, was bitten a few years ago by a brown recluse. He sought quick medical attention due to the fact that one of his coworkers was, at that time, recovering with a wound vac on his back side to heal his spider bite. (That can leave a big impression on even a macho man. . .) Kev recovered fairly quickly, but he still has a round scar on his leg. I, on the other hand, do not mind the eight-legged creatures. Sure, I would prefer the poisonous ones stay out of my house, but most of the time, I catch and release the little buggers.

This weekend, we made a quick trip to Branson. Arriving at our destination, I looked up and noticed a "dead" spider near my window. I attempted to brush the poor little guy out, when he decided to wake up. And JUMP. The nasty little creepy crawler jumped on my leg and started crawling up my pants, while I was shooing him frantically off my leg. He kept going, and I started to panic. . .you know, not wanting to have a wound vac attached to my crotch and all. . .Finally, I unbuckled my seat belt and jumped out of the car like the Boogie Man himself was about to get me. . .to find several vacationers watching the speedy exit of one pleasantly plump blond from a dirty SUV.

I'm turning over a new leaf. My new motto? A dead spider is a good spider. Dang Charlotte's Web. . .