It starts out as a simple, every day type of situation; I got into the car. That’s it. Easy, right? Don’t patronize me, it obviously wasn’t that easy because this is called ‘Utterly Horrified’ for a reason. Thinking about it causes my heart to race (deep breath). It started as a typical drive home. It was 10:00 at night, the kids were ornery, radio was blaring, and traffic was at a steady pace.
I approached a red light. The glow from the light illuminated my steering wheel. Part of me wished it hadn’t, the other part is grateful it did, because that’s when I saw it. Scurrying across my steering wheel, right near my hands mind you, was a yellowish, green spider. I hollered, “Get the spider off the wheel!” very loudly as I quickly pulled my hands back. I sat at the light, frozen. “Get it now!” I scream at my oldest as I notice the light was getting ready to change.
Sure enough, the light turns green as my daughter flicked the spider off the wheel and onto my leg. I freeze. I then scream on the top of my lungs, “GET IT OFF ME NOW!” My two younger kids were in the back seat laughing hysterically. I was yelling, “Did you get it?!?” and “Are you sure?” Over and over again. The two younger children were having fits of laughter.
My daughter informed me that the spider was dead (sorry animal lovers) and that its squished body was definitely not on my side of the vehicle. I wasn’t sure she was truthful and my adrenaline was pumping. I had to drive, but I was afraid to hold the wheel. I slowly accelerate and ask my daughter a few times, “Are you sure that was the only spider?”
“Chill, Mom. That was it. The spider is dead. You can drive now.” I looked at her like she was insane. My fingertips would barely touch the wheel. I was literally driving with my index finger of each hand. My arms were sporting the biggest goosebumps known to man. I was spent. I wish the story was over at this point, but unfortunately there’s more.
My youngest daughter decided to torment me in my suffering. I was driving with two fingers and my back completely against the seat when my daughter reaches her hand to the back of my neck and lightly sweeps her fingers through my hair. I immediately jerk my head back and scream. The kids erupt. I’m hitting myself in the head over and over again, hollering, while driving down a semi-busy street.
I’m smart enough not to get into an accident and to pull the car over. I’m also smart enough to holler at the kids for how dangerous it is to pretend to be a spider while their mom is driving. My kids heard nothing. They were too busy howling at the intensity of my fear. I think this week I will hide underneath each child’s bed and grab their leg as they are falling asleep. Perhaps that will teach them. Until then, they’ve been having the time of their lives making fun of me for being scared to death of a spider.