Arachnaphobia
I was just outside taking the wilted buds off of my petunia plant when all of a sudden I noticed a gargantuous orange spider slinging itself along on its web under my armpit. I know this is supposed to be a blog about thinking, but there were no thoughts involved in my reaction. It was all emotion and screaming and wild spraying of my water bottle onto the tortured spider.
I guess I shouldn’t have plants if I can’t handle bugs, because the two seem to go together somehow. My grandmother now, she was a fearless woman. She had a green thumb and was not squeamish about bugs. I don’t think the old Scottish woman was squeamish about anything. She was a nurse after all. My mother told me a story once about how she read in some part of the world that flies were eaten and so she took a house fly and baked it in the oven and ate it! No wonder I’m weird.
On a side note, I have to giggle in a sort of horrified way to imagine one little fly on a huge baking sheet in the oven with my Grandmother patiently waiting for it to be “done”.
