Because I'm not as saintly as my brother Corey or my cousin Abbey, I condone the killing of spiders that have intruded upon one's living space.
However, I rarely have the gumption to do the deed myself, because arachnids gross me out.
Once, while teaching 3rd grade, a rather large non-poisonous spider was traipsing across the rug. I announced to the class to back away, and that I was going to get my broom to kill it, when a rather spunky and outdoorsy youngster leapt to his feet and cried, "I kill spiders with my bare hands!" After which he dove to the carpet in a Steve Irwin-esque leap and smashed the little beast with his palm. I was taken aback in surprise and admiration at once. I made sure he properly washed his hands, of course, and thanked him for taking care of it. That night I told my husband about the event, and we shared a good laugh about it.
Earlier this week, I discovered a spider creeping up on me and shrieked about it to Kevin. Since there was not a tissue immediately nearby, and because he's a hoot, Kevin dove forward and shouted, "I KILL SPIDERS WITH MY BARE HANDS!" in memory of my student. And he protected me as such. And washed his hands. I promise.
I don't necessarily recommend this practice, but both instances gave me a good hearty guffaw, and I wanted to offer the opportunity for the very same to you.
And it makes for quite the anecdote.
And proof that little boys never grow up đ
However, I rarely have the gumption to do the deed myself, because arachnids gross me out.
Once, while teaching 3rd grade, a rather large non-poisonous spider was traipsing across the rug. I announced to the class to back away, and that I was going to get my broom to kill it, when a rather spunky and outdoorsy youngster leapt to his feet and cried, "I kill spiders with my bare hands!" After which he dove to the carpet in a Steve Irwin-esque leap and smashed the little beast with his palm. I was taken aback in surprise and admiration at once. I made sure he properly washed his hands, of course, and thanked him for taking care of it. That night I told my husband about the event, and we shared a good laugh about it.
Earlier this week, I discovered a spider creeping up on me and shrieked about it to Kevin. Since there was not a tissue immediately nearby, and because he's a hoot, Kevin dove forward and shouted, "I KILL SPIDERS WITH MY BARE HANDS!" in memory of my student. And he protected me as such. And washed his hands. I promise.
I don't necessarily recommend this practice, but both instances gave me a good hearty guffaw, and I wanted to offer the opportunity for the very same to you.
And it makes for quite the anecdote.
And proof that little boys never grow up đ
spider killers can still be saints!
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