Womankind vs the Entire Arachnid Species

It was around a heavily laden coffee table that the conversation took a turn for the worse. A complicated collection of mothering souls were drowning their Monday morning blues in bottomless coffee and carrot cake. And somehow, the topic of spiders crept into the bleary eyed gabfest. A sudden hush descended upon the group, and the volume was lowered, almost imperceptibly, as each matriarch lent forward to offer wisdom and take of that which was offered.

"I can't stand spiders," admitted one. "I'll take a barrel of snakes and a room full of rats, but don't give me spiders."

A nod of agreement traveled around the table and stopped at a young, and fairly new addition to the group. "Spiders. And pray mantises," she almost choked on the words, and hurriedly washed them away with a sip of her cafe latte. A moment of quiet reflection followed, and then the roving nod continued on its way.

One by one, the mothers offered hair-raising stories of their personal encounters with the eight legged demons. As the stories unfolded, each woman perceptibly drew her shoulders up and tucked her legs underneath her - well, on the inside anyway. One mom started nervously biting her finger nails.

The next in line to offer a story of breath-taking escape and bravery above and beyond the call of duty was a roly-poly mom of two.

"I've heard that if you don't have Doom," she proffered, "Hairspray will do the job too."

A muffled sigh of amazement and bemusement evaporated out of the huddle.

"Shew!" smiled a beautifully made-up blonde. "At least that's something I always have around!"

Now I wish to stop this story right here.

Can you humor me for just one moment? Can you imagine the scenario that led to this fantastic discovery?

A woman gets up in the morning (it has to be a woman, of course). She plods into the bathroom to wash her face. Eyes closed, water dripping off her eyelashes, she reaches for the towel next to the basin. The same towel that a huge (and by huge, I'm thinking at least the size of a full toilet roll) rain spider has been lurking on all night long. Her fingers brush against three spiky legs that immediately crimp away from her groping reach. Water or no water, she opens her eyes to see what she would only expect in a bad dream. The monster watches her with eight glistening eyes. She screams. If he could, he would too. She is definitely the scariest thing he's ever seen.

Still screaming she starts grabbing at anything she can get her hands on. She pulls the handsoap off the basin. It smashes to the floor. She opens the bathroom cabinet. Cough syrup, toothpaste, Dettol all get ripped off the shelves and tossed into the basin.

The spider watches with eight wide eyes. He feels nervous. Making plans to prolong his life, he decides it would be best to find a new vantage point to this hysteria. He lowers himself on a strong single thread down to the tiled floor.

Dripping wet woman is engrossed in finding something useful in her cabinet. She is still screaming. For a moment she glances back at the perch above the hand towel. Her nemesis has disappeared. A moment of silence follows. In which she takes a deep breath. And then. She scream swears. It is at this precise moment that a large shadow passing over her foot grabs her attention. It is also at this moment that her hand still scratching wildly in the cabinet finds purchase on the cool, reassuring cylinder of hairspray. A primative instinct equates the shape of the can of hairspray to a can of Doom. Screaming and swearing she places her finger on the trigger, and in a nano second of irrational violence, she fires.

The unsuspecting arachnid is covered head-to-toe-to-toe-to-toe-to-toe-to-toe-to-toe-to-toe (only seven because he lost a foot in a minor altercation with the neighbour's wife and a broomstick the previous afternoon). He is immediately held in place by sticky globlets of complex polymers. Unable to take a step due to the never-ending shower of alcohols and silicone, the spider takes his final breath and succumbs to that overpowering cloud of fumes that tends to fill your lungs whenever you fix your coiffure.

The woman stops scream. She still swears a bit. Taking a huge step over the lifeless exoskeleton on her bathroom floor, she starts shivering and shaking. She can feel a million bugs crawling all over her skin. And despite how awful she is feeling, she has made a truly helpful discovery to all womankind henceforth.

Now put that in your back pocket!