Arachnaphobia and humanophobia

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My crappy laptop died yesterday. In a way, that’s good, since it allows for finally getting a good computer. But as I’m not as financially solvable as is spiritually healthy, it’s also quite a burden.

For some reason, I tend to have a rather bad influence on hardware. My computer breaks, my cameras die, my phones stop working.
And don’t even get me started on software.

So my options? I’d love to buy a Mac or, failing that, set up an Ubuntu-based PC. However, my external wi-fi antenna isn’t very run of the mill, meaning I’ll be unable to download drivers for Linux until I’m connected, and I won’t be able to connect until I’ve got drivers. Catch 22.

It walks

Also, practically on the very exact same moment my laptop died, Betsy discovered a huge spider in our bathroom. Huge. Seriously. Larger than the outstretched hand of a grown man. And with long hairy legs to boot.
Normally, it’s Betsy who gets rid of these annoying bugs, but this time, even she was overcome by the challenge of having to remove this impressive arachnid.
Before having seen it, I suggested using the vacuum cleaner on the little critter. Then, when I saw it and several expletives later, it was obvious vacuuming the animal up, clearly, was not going to be an option. This was the type of spider you see in spider and insect museums; with a note saying they eat baby cows and whatnot.

I moved one of the chairs from the dining table to the hallway, so that, standing on the chair, I could look in the bathroom mirror and keep an eye on the spider, lounging on the wall right in front of me, but on the other side, possibly assuming it was blending in nicely with the brown tiles it was hanging on to. Meanwhile, Betsy, still shaken, kept a safe distance and in quick succession, smoked a series of cigarettes to calm the nerves.

Related:  Nature

A slipper? Still the vacuum cleaner? A newspaper? Insect repellant. Normally, we prefer removing offending bugs alive, escorting them out of the premises. But after our first parktown prawn a few weeks ago, we decided it might be wise to have a weapons grade insect killer in the house. Just in case.
Clearly, this was just such a case, although neither of us was sure the spider -didn’t- have a weapons grade armor to withstand such an assault.

Betsy still at a distance, I went in for the kill. Charging and spraying, adrenaline pumping and using war cries to urge myself on, I chased the animal around the bathroom as it scrambled away in a frenzy. Imagine the hand from The Addams Family, bringing friends and going wild. Although I was also somehow reminded of a panicking circus clown running away from a fire.

Several times, in all its cunning, the superbug played dead, but it was unable to fool me. And, in the end, I even had some insect repellant left. Bring ‘m on! Or rather, not.

Getting a grip, it took a piece of cardboard to transport the crumpled up beast to the toilet and flush him out of our lives. A few cigarettes and strong liquor to wind down.