Spiders creep columnist
out
Kristin Buchanan
Opinion Columnist
I really don't like spiders. They're creepy.
I'm sure if you took the time to look into their beady little eyes, you
would see nothing but pure evil staring
back at you from those orbs of darkness.
If spiders could communicate with humans,
we would no doubt learn of their evil plans for world domination — that
is, if we were able to break free
from their sinister mind-control long
enough.
Who knows, they may already be controlling
our minds. Even as you read this, they could be manipulating the way you
think. The worst thing is, the
malevolent creatures can fit into the
tiniest crevices of my apartment. I hate the thought of co-existing with
them.
My aversion to spiders began in my childhood
years. When I was five, I awoke one morning to see a huge spider less than
a foot away from my face.
I watched in terror as the creature crawled
across my blanket. Even more shocking than waking up to see this monstrosity
in front of me was the way
it walked unfazed while I screamed in
horror. It crawled down the side of my bed and was gone by the time my
mom walked in.
I wouldn't exactly say I have a phobia;
it's more like a severe aversion to arachnids. My stomach turns whenever
I see a picture of a spider. And yet I
can't seem to look away.
Saturday night, I saw Eight Legged Freaks,
a film about giant spiders trying to take over the world. While the movie
is a parody of all the delightfully
cheesy horror flicks I watched as a kid—campy
favorites like Empire of the Ants, Land of the Spiders and The Swarm—it
still gave me the
heebie-jeebies.
I would totally recommend the movie, with
reservations, of course. While the sound effects are pretty funny, giving
the mammoth spiders a layer of
personality, they're also a little spooky
at the same time. No one likes to hear the pitter-patter of little feet—when
it comes from evil spiders bent on
weaving a web of worldwide destruction.
I was completely repulsed as the spiders bit into their victims, weaving
their heads back and forth like so
many warm-blooded predators devouring
their prey. I hate to admit it, but the movie really got under my skin.
Later, I couldn't even reach into my purse
without the thought of a castaway spider waiting for me.
A few weeks ago, I had an encounter that
seemed straight out of Arachnophobia. As I was about to step into the shower,
I pulled the shower curtain
back. Just then, a spider about one inch
in length dropped down, dangling defiantly in front of me.
I grabbed the toilet brush and, holding
it by the brush end, I swung at the beast. It landed on the knob, and I
swung at it again. The creepy, crawly
creature fell down the waterspout.
I turned on the shower, and washed the
spider out. And, unlike the song, the not-so-itsy-bitsy spider did not
crawl up the spout again ... to my
