Dying a tragic death is the only way to describe being sprayed with an entire can of Raid Spider Blaster, sprayed with a garden hose and then squished by the bottom of a shoe.
Bruce the spider has been renting space in the top left hand corner of my front door this season. We have had a pretty civil arrangement, but he breached his contract and had to die.
I really didn't mind him being there because he did keep the insect population entering my home at a minimum and I would turn my outside light on so he could grab more midnight snacks.
I don't have a fear of spiders, but they derive from the region of ewwdon'tletittouchme, where all things creepy-crawly reside.
Bruce was a jerk and decided to call his friends over for a party while I was out.
I had forgotten to turn my outside light on that night, but there was a glow from the bright spotlights at the ball diamond.
I walked up to the door, reached for the handle, and felt webs brush against my arm and leg. When webs touch my skin, I have the best reflexes in the world. I jumped back and carefully examined my doorway.
I know Bruce comes out at night, but his web is up in the corner, high enough that my short stature doesn't come in contact with it.
The shadows cast from the ball diamond showed not one, but five spiders hanging out across all areas of my door.
How could that be? I was only gone for three hours.
These little eight-legged freaks are web spinning machines. Industrious, to say the least.
Although I already knew I wasn't getting past this woven silk party, I tried again. I reached for the door handle, and felt the fine sticky thread attach itself to my arm.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to walk through this mess of cobwebs that have taken over my doorway.
I glared up at Bruce. This was his breach of contract. There were to be no friends over...ever. I could tolerate one little arachnid, but not six hanging from my door.
That night, I had to use my back door. As I walked in my house, I tried to think of ways to break up this night crawler party. I surely couldn't leave it until morning, because I'd forget they were there and end up entangled in a mass of webs on my way to work.
Bugs bother me more dead than alive, so I had to build up the courage to bomb them with Raid.
Armed with a full can of Spider Blaster, I reached for the door knob, this time from the inside, closed my eyes, took a breath, and open it just enough to point the nozzle directly at the smallest culprit first.
Finger on the trigger, I pushed down, watched him fall, and closed the door.
I repeated this action four more times, until Bruce breathed in his last breath.
I waited a few minutes before I opened the door one last time.
There Bruce hung, lifeless, swaying, dead and upside down, back and forth in the breeze on the warm summer's night. That wasn't dead enough for me.
I ventured back outside, through the back door. I reached for my garden hose, which was securely set to jet mode, and sprayed the door until Bruce fell from his web onto the deck.
Then I stomped on him.
His web had survived the blast.
Maybe the next tenant will be a little more respectful.