The Story of Paul

Anyone who knows me knows how much I hate bugs. I can't even kill them because they squish and there's guts and ew. Just ew. When I spot one in my apartment, it immediately turns into a big event that involves the following steps:

1. Freak out and dance around while cursing up a storm.

2. Haul out the vacuum and wish for the millionth time I had one with a longer hose. (That's what she said.) Or a boyfriend. (Also with a long hose.) (You knew that was coming.)

3. Crawl up onto whichever piece of furniture is closest to said bug while praying I don't fall and break a hip because let's face it I'm 30 now and that's a real possibility.

4. Suck the bug up with the vacuum while cackling maniacally.

5. Immediately jump down and holster the hose so that the bug can't crawl back out in some kind of superhero-like feat of strength that's powered by thoughts of revenge.

6. Grab a huge black plastic garbage bag instead of the more appropriate small grocery bag because what if it touches me while I'm trying to empty it because the bag is too small?

7. Empty the canister into the inappropriately large black plastic garbage bag.

8. Tie it closed and run - literally, run - to throw it out the front door.

I wish I was kidding.

Late last week, while I was getting ready for work, I spotted a small brown house spider on the ceiling in my bathroom. He was just hanging out in the corner, minding his own business, and since I was already late for work, I couldn't commence with the above bug evacuation plan. So, I decided to let him live, at least until I got home. I figured he couldn't go far. I told him he'd better stay the hell out of my bedroom, and I left for work.

Well, apparently my laziness has finally overtaken my hatred of bugs, because as the week progressed, I spotted him quite a few times - in the bathroom, over the kitchen table, in the living room, but never in my bedroom - and I never got the urge to kill him. I really appreciated his willingness to abide by my "no bedroom" rule, and I also just didn't feel like climbing up on any furniture, so I figured he deserved some brownie points for that. He started to become part of my day. He spent most of his time in my living room - apparently he has the same taste in television as I do - so it was kind of like we were hanging out. I named him Paul. I said hello to him in the morning. I said goodnight to him when I went to bed. And he never set foot in my room, as per our agreement.

I guess you could say things were going well.

Until yesterday.

When I got home from work and changed into sweatpants and took off my bra (literally my favorite moment of the day) I realized I hadn't seen Paul all day. I glanced around the kitchen and the living room, but he was nowhere to be found. I warily crept back into my bedroom and searched the corners and the ceiling, but he wasn't in there, either. I immediately felt kind of bad for not trusting him. After checking the corners of the bathroom and the second bedroom, I concluded that he had probably ducked underground to hang out with his spider girlfriend or lay some eggs or whatever spiders do when they're underground, and I went about my business. I've been doing my best to drink a lot of water, so not long after my apartment-wide search, I had to go to the bathroom. 

And that's when a routine trip to the restroom became the stuff of nightmares. 

When I went to grab some toilet paper, I finally found Paul. He was hiding on the wall just behind the toilet paper. When it spun, it must have scared him, because he started skittering up the wall. I don't do skittering. I may or may not have jumped off the toilet, and screamed, and run out of the bathroom. 

And I may or may not have yelled, "Damnit, Paul. Damnit. Now you have to die."

Here's the thing, though. I was so pissed off that he'd hide behind the toilet paper like that, just to fuck with me, that I didn't even get the vacuum. I decided that, to teach him a lesson, he would die at the hand of said toilet paper. And so he did. It was quick, and painless, and I flushed him just to make sure he didn't come back to life and try to exact his revenge. 

And so, I dedicate this post to Paul. Our friendship, however precarious and brief it may have been, has taught me that no matter how tolerant and accepting I try to be, I am just not cut out to be friends with a spider.

RIP Paul