I would like to begin this post by saying that I am, for the most part, a normal, grownup lady, and as such, I keep a reasonably clean house and have fairly respectable standards of housekeeping. If you were to show up at my house right now, it’d be a little messy, but for the most part there’s nothing to be ashamed of.
Except for one spot. There’s one shameful spot that I cannot bring myself to clean: the window ledge above my shower. I never look directly at it, because it’s creepy as hell, but out of the corner of my eye I see enough: stringy clouds of webs, dried-up bug carcasses, and one enormous, jet black spider. The muscly kind. There’s probably an hourglass involved but like I said, I can’t look directly at it.
If I stand on my tiptoes outside the shower, I can see her suspended in her web, a couple inches above the sill. I check to make sure she’s there every day, because if there is a big black spider in the vicinity, I prefer to be aware of its location. Once I’m in the shower, I can’t see her at all. She’s smart enough not to move while I’m in there.
I have zero tolerance for gross bugs like roaches or ants. Spiders are a little different. I have no love for spiders but I am not phobic. I can usually kill them by myself, so long as they are not particularly jumpy or menacing. Usually I don’t kill them, unless they break the rules* or scare my daughter, but in general, if they stay out of my way, I allow them to live.
*The rules for spiders sharing my home is that they are not permitted to exceed the diameter of a quarter with all their legs extended, and they are not to present at eye level, occupy my bed, traverse the ceiling above my bed, or ever touch me for any reason. Because the spider who lives in my shower honors these conditions (except for the size limit, maybe, but she has the sense to keep her legs tucked up so I can’t be sure), she has lived there for several years.
I realize that it is probably not the exact same spider that I first became aware of sometime in 2015, but likely her descendant. I read Charlotte’s Web so I know a fair amount about the spider life cycle and I know they don’t live that long. I think they can only live long enough to save one pig, go to the county fair and make an egg sac, then they die. Maybe this one has lived a little longer because there aren’t any pigs in our neighborhood, but still—there have been at least three county fairs since she moved into my window sill, and I found an egg sac on my shower pouf once, so she should have been long gone by now. We are probably on Shower Spider III or IV, I’m guessing.
Further evidence of multiple spider iterations: once, a big, black spider did crawl down the wall of the shower and when I opened the door to get in, it was at eye level. Since it broke the rules, I grabbed a flip flop and smashed it. (Rules are rules.) Surprisingly, killing it made me sad. I came out of the bathroom in my towel and announced to my daughter, “After all these years, I just killed the spider that lives in my shower.” And she expressed sadness, too, despite her very real fear of spiders. I was a little blue as I showered that day, thinking that my old friend was gone, but the next day, there she was, in her web above the window sill! So I must have killed an imposter spider! My shower spider was either very happy that I wiped out the competition, or sad that I took out one of her kids. I’ll never know.
Once I had a boyfriend who hung around long enough to hear about the shower spider, and he offered to kill her for me. But I knew that boyfriend was terrified of spiders and he was just trying to be manly. I didn’t have the heart to ask him to overcome that fear for me, so I told him not to bother killing her. The truth is that I have mixed feelings about killing the spider because we almost have a relationship now. (The spider and I have the relationship, that is. That boyfriend is long gone.) It’s not exactly fondness, just sort of a mutual respect. She’s probably more afraid of me than I am of her. I mean, she has seen me naked every day for the last several years. She probably doesn’t like to look over the edge of the window sill during that seven-minute period of the day, either.
Sometimes I think about what would happen if I die, and people were cleaning out my house. “That Meg had a pretty nice house,” they’d say, “but what’s up with that disgusting window ledge above the shower?” And that’s fine…judge all you want, post-mortem house cleaners. Just don’t kill my spider.
Unless I died by spider bite, of course. In that case, the flip flops are right outside the shower door.