I hate spiders.
I am terrified of spiders and I hate them. Yes, I know that every spider I have ever found inside my home is harmless and that it is more afraid of me than I am of it. they eat other bugs. I know all of this. I have a phobia of spiders.
My husband hates spiders and is afraid of them slightly less than I am.
There was a big fat black spider in the bathtub the other day. And by big and fat I mean it was maybe the size of a dime. Probably smaller. I woke my husband up to kill it. Told him he’d probably need the vacuum cleaner for this cthonic creature from the depths of hell. He smushed it and flushed it down the toilet.
I asked him to look around the bathroom, make sure there weren’t any more. He said spiders of that size are usually cannibals, so there probably weren’t any more.
I stood in the hallway, hoping from one foot to the other. Me, a thirty eight year old woman, was doing what looked like a potty dance. I told him that him looking around the bathroom for spiders would give me the comfort that a young child gets from their parent checking under the bed for monsters, even though the parents (and maybe the kid) KNOWS there isn’t a monster under the bed.
He made a huge showing of looking in all the corners of the bathroom, under the toilet, in the sinks, behind the door. He made sure that I saw him look under the bed and not see any monsters. Even though we both knew there weren’t any. He took my irrational fear and gave it rationality, made it an OK thing. Not a fear, or a weakness, just a thing.
he gets all the husband points.