Monday, July 9, 2007

Go home, Charlotte.


There was an altercation with a spider on Sunday; first a close call for me in bare feet, and then the burden of saving the family fell on the young, delicate shoulders of Muffin Uptown.

But, she's grown--independent, living on her own. She shops for and prepares her own food, pays the bills, sends home the revelers when the party winds down and it's time for sleep. She's had to deal with spiders, surely? No respecter of age or experience, those surly spiders must have made an appearance at her place by now--throwing their weight around, trying to bully her into giving them Cheetoes and beer.

I was barefooted and unarmed, so I hung back to let MU handle the situation. The spider--big, pissed-off, and hungry for girl-meat, faced off with my vulnerable baby girl. But there was steely resolve Muffin's eyes and an iron set to her jaw as she removed her shoe and stepped back another 24 inches--carefully putting space between her now-naked toes and the scene of certain slaughter.

She brought her shoe high and wide into the air at her shoulder and --swoosh-- DOWN onto the floor. Six full inches away from the spider. Terrified, the spider zig-zagged across the floor and ran beneath the door, over the threshold, and into the relative safety of the out-of-doors.

MU looked expectantly at me, waiting (I can only guess) to be praised.

"Well." I said, after a moment. "You might just as well have put your thumbs in your ears, waggled your fingers, and hollered boogada-boogada at it. All you did was scare it to death."

"Whatever gets the job done, Mom," she said, slid her foot back into her shoe, and went on about business.

My daughter. The spider whisperer.

photo by Zeeshan Qureshi.

1 comment:

The Grandmother said...

The truth has to be told at this point. Shortly after Mundanejane and Muffin-uptown's papa were married, I, Jane's Mom, received a panicked phone call that my newly married, independent, I-can-do anything-daughter had a total of at least seven spiders trapped under up-ended jars throughout her newly-wed house, and I had to come and kill them for her before they escaped. If that horrible event happened, she would never be able to spend another night in that house. I see now some twenty-five years later the phobia continues. I am so pleased to note that Muffin-uptown appears to have inherited her grandmomma's good sense.