If You HATE Spiders, Don’t Read this!

My husband had been warning me for a few weeks now that we were coming around to fumigating season. We live in the Pacific Northwest where everything is moist and damp. Perfect weather for all types of creepy crawlies to nestle in our apartment.

I kept putting it off, because, well frankly I hate fumigating season!

Fumigating is nasty, time consuming and tedious. It usually takes me a few days to prepare. You can’t have any piles of clothes lying around which means all of the laundry has to be washed, folded and put away. As a family of four we seem to always have a pile of clothes that is either, dirty and needs to be washed or clean and needs to be folded.

Every piece of furniture needs to be moved at least 2 inches away from each other and the walls to stimulate air flow during fumigation. No food can be out in reach of the spray and afterwards all counters and kitchen tables have to be thoroughly wiped down. If you have a child that puts everything in their mouth, like mine, all the toys and other things within their reach has to be wiped too.

Like I said, I hate fumigating season and was putting it off for as long as I could.

Until one day when Isaac was waking up from a nap, and I went into the room to pull him out. I noticed what looked like a piece of poop on the floor, and bent down to pick it up with a napkin. Only for the piece of poop to get up AND SCURRY UNDERNEATH MY SONS CRIB.

What I at first glance believed to be a little turd nugget, turned out to be the BIGGEST SPIDER I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.

Now, every time I say anything along the lines of ‘this is the biggest spider I have ever seen’ that is when my husband reminds me of the spiders he dealt with growing up in South America. Because compared to those bastards, North American spiders are a friggin walk in the park, I guess.

This thing.. hmmm… le’ts call her B*TCH FROM HELL.

The b*tchs’s body was as long and thick as my pointer finger nail. Coming out of her body were long crooked legs and two thick pointy teeth thingy’s. Her big ass booty was covered in a gray velvet while the rest of her body and legs were more of a russet brown color.

Now, I’m not scared of spiders. Seriously, I’m not. We are living in an apartment that is in an old shop. Above our apartment is an area of the shop that my landlords store their old furniture and paint buckets. If I lie really still at night, I can hear the mice and rats scurry around upstairs. Our bedroom windows are so old and aren’t sealed properly so any and all manner of legged and winged creatures welcome themselves into our home. I am killing bugs and spiders all day, everyday.

No problem!

Especially since my husband and I bought our Bug-A-Salt Gun, killing the bastards has been a breeze.

When you are a stay at home mom, it is your duty to protect your house and its inhabitants from all illegal invaders.

BTW: I bought this for my husband on fathers day but I have been using more than him. If you hate bugs but hate killing them close up, there is no way better to keep your family bug free and feel like a total bad-ass at the same time. Here is the link where you can get one yourself. (No, I am not sponsored. Just really love this thing.) https://www.bugasalt.com/

I love killing bugs with my Bug-A-Salt gun! Except when the bastard have a huge ass that looks like it is about to burst with a thousand other tiny bastards. I thought about shooting her but then I imagined a thousand little tiny spiders pouring out from their mothers dead body, crawling across the floor towards me in an orderly military style to avenge their mothers death onto my face.

“Hello. My name is Lil B*tch Junior. You killed my mother. Prepare to die.”

Some grown spider in the future, PROBABLY.

Nope. Nope. Nope. All the nopes.

I grabbed a mason jar and a lid, slowly capturing the Bitch From Hell, so I could examine her and find out what species of demon she was. I was disappointed to find that on the list of top 100 spiders found in North America she was not on it. She had no tell tale markings on her body. Her smooth Kim Kardashian-esque boody had no distinguishable spots or striped.

I then remembered how close we were to an international airport. Would if someone had flown in from Australia, unknowingly harboring a fugitive amongst their luggage and once they landed in Portlant The B*tch climbed out of their bag, out of the airport, and came to my house!

But I realized how ridiculous that sounded since B*tch’s can’t call an Uber.

So I went back to studying her.

Her long appendaged legs were the kind of limbs that after you see them, you never really stop FEELING them crawl over your body. Every stray hair and loose string touching your clothes makes you think that there are 100’s of her creeping and crawling all over you.

I am not scared of spiders. I am scared of many other things, like confrontation or standing at the head of a line while a waiter and a line of people behind me wait for me to order my food, and taxes, but no, I am not scared of spiders. I will kill a mutherf*cker no problem.

You know some fears, you feel with your heart. These are the fears that when you see them, your heart stops and plummets until you are holding it in your hands.

Other fears, you feel with your head. Like when you feel yourself coming close to the edge of a cliff, and your head starts spinning around and around until you feel like you are just about to fall off.

This spider, I felt with my butt hole. It stayed clenched even after I had her safely imprisoned in my glass mason fortress of doom. Of course, I wasn’t an animal. Instead of covering the mason jar with a metal lid and suffocating the B*tch, I used a piece of cloth and a tightening band around the lip to allow for air flow.

I kept a firm eye on her as I sent my husband a picture of her with the caption, “Well, F*ck this place. Call an exterminator this big ass b*tch was in our room WHILE ISAAC WAS SLEEPING. It’s big and about to give birth soon.” To which he appropriately replied,

“Let’s bug bomb this b*tch.”

– The Sexiest Man Alive

That was at 11:23. By noon I had our bags packed and had begun getting the apartment prepared for “Operation Exorcism”. While I was preparing for the mass genocide of all the creepy and crawlies, Isaac was eating grapes and accidentally dropped one on the floor.

I didn’t notice till I stepped on it and without looking down my brain thought that I had stepped on another Big B*tch.

When I heard the tell tale pop and felt something cool and gooey squish between my toes, I imagined the grape seeds were actually little baby spiders, crawling up my legs. Now, I am in no way a very athletic person but I am pretty sure the Olympic vault team would have been impressed with my ability to jump over a dining table, wipe my feet and sh*t my pants at the same time.

In four hours I managed to wash, fold and put away all of our laundry. I washed and put away all the dishes, appliances and other knick knacks that were on our kitchen counter. I packed a change of clothes for the four of us. I made sure to include our daily vitamins, body wash and toothbrushes. Knowing my husband had a client meeting later, I also packed his work laptop, any paperwork he would need and an extra formal shirt just in case he didn’t like the one that I grabbed.

By the time my husband came home with the bug bombs, the truck was loaded with our two kids, and enough clothes, food and water to last us three days. If my neighbor looked out their window amidst all this chaos, they would have probably thought that I was leaving my husband that day and we were getting a divorce, what with my scurrying from the truck to our apartment, loading it up with what looked like everything in our apartment while I muttered “Kill the B*tch” . When he came home Mihei looked at the fully loaded truck, shook his head and said, “You know we only have to be gone for like, four hours right?”

He said he had never seen me act so furious, pack so quickly or clean so methodically in all of our seven years of marriage. He had also never seen me take clothes out of the dryer, fold and put them away all in the same day… Usually it is a long process that contains me leaving the piles on our bedroom floor for several days, as I slowly fold a few, only to have to refold them as Gregory and Isaac unfold them and play “How quickly can we make mama cry.”

I don’t think my husband has ever seen the house so clean.

Before we set off the bug bombs, we made sure to leave The B*tch and her glass prison near one of the bombs. Neither of us wanted to kill her BUT WE WANTED HER DEAD.

My butt hole didn’t un-clench till we got into the truck and were miles away from the apartment. We spent the next 24 hours at my parents house, taking advantage of their Netflix account and their secret stash of candy that was “just for the grandkids”. It was a blissful time filled with joyous romps in the sprinkler and rewatching ‘Friends’ episodes. It felt like being a kid again.

Until we came back home to see THE B*TCH WAS STILL ALIVE.


She was surrounded by the empty and curled up husks of her brethren but THERE SHE STOOD. ALIVE AND WELL.


I took the mason jar outside and let her loose on the pavement. As soon as her hairy tentacles felt the warm pavement underneath her and the cool breeze ruffling her pinchers, she booked it. With all the strength that she could muster, she lifted her legs, faster and faster, inching her way closer to freedom. She was so close! She could see her goal, the long unkept grass at the edge of the driveway. Faster and faster! She was almost there when she felt a shadow obstruct her view of the sun. Then, SQUISH, and she felt nothing but the blissful release of death.


Her big velvety butt has exploded into a mush under the Foot of Rightful Justice.

I wiped my shoe before coming back inside the apartment. The next five hours were spent wiping EVERYTHING down that I could. I knew the bug bombs are quite toxic and with my 1 year old putting EVERYTHING into his mouth right now, I had to make sure I was thorough. After releasing my sons into our home, I followed them with a rag to diligently wipe anything they would want to touch or taste. There were times where I would look away just for a moment, and turn to see Isaac putting something into his mouth that I hadn’t wiped yet, and I would make a mad dash to his side, rip the thing out of his hands, wipe it down really well and hand it back.

Many tears were spilled that day, but don’t worry. After a big bottle and a nap, I felt much better.

I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did and want to read more about my chronicles of being a stay at home mom, subscribe down below!

Recent blog posts

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s