One spider? Normal. Two spiders? Concerning.
Spider in the toilet? Now we’ve got a problem.
In recent months, we’ve occasionally spotted a spider here and a spider there, but I didn’t get worried until the third spider showed up in the toilet. At first glance, a spider in the toilet doesn’t seem terrible. You don’t even have to take a shoe off to smack it. You just flush and it’s gone.
Or is it?
Once you see a toilet spider, your mind files that image away for future reference. Then the next time your bare backside makes contact with a toilet seat, it immediately retrieves that image and plays it on repeat. As you do your biological business, one specific thought skitters across your mind: “What if a spider jumps on my behind and bites me?”
Some people might say that’s nonsense because spiders are crawlers, not jumpers. But my journalistic research suggests otherwise. The Museum of Science in Boston says some spiders can jump up to 38 times their own body length, which is equivalent to a human jumping halfway down a football field with one leap.
Now, I’m not saying spiders are sinister creatures who want to do us harm. I’m a big fan of Spider-Man and will see all his movies no matter how many they make. I’m just saying that a spider who suddenly finds himself trapped in a toilet with no way out might do something we’d both regret.
A few days after the toilet spider incident, we had a large window replaced in our kitchen. As the installers prepared the work area, they removed a large cushion that lined the bench seat under that window. When they did, I heard one of the guys say, “Uh oh, that’s a brown recluse.”
I immediately spun around. “Did you just see a brown recluse spider? Right under that bench seat cushion?”
Him: “Yeah, but don’t worry because I killed it.”
Me: “I’m not worried about the one you smashed. I’m worried about all its relatives.”
Hearing the words “brown recluse” sent my internal threat level soaring. I have a friend who was once bitten on her behind by a brown recluse spider. (As far as I know, it didn’t happen on a toilet or a window seat, but how can anyone be sure?) My friend was a teenager at the time and didn’t realize she’d been bitten until several days later when the skin around the bite began to blister and turn purple.
By the time she saw a doctor, the spider bite had caused some skin to die, which left a crater-shaped scar. Thankfully, she fully recovered. I, however, have still not recovered from learning that spiders can and will bite a butt.
Back at my house, the spider exterminator showed up by Friday and sprayed almost everywhere. He even sprayed the creepy crawlspace, which he said housed plenty of spiders, including brown recluses. (If I’d had the money, I would’ve tipped him a million dollars.)
I asked him how long it might take for the extermination to work. He said spiders crawl through the sprayed chemicals, which don’t kill on contact. Then the spiders clean themselves (like cats do), and when they lick their hairy spider legs, they ingest the poison and pass on to the great crawlspace in the sky.
If he’d stopped the explanation there, I might’ve been okay. But he went on to say that the process doesn’t work as well on brown recluse spiders because they don’t groom themselves as often. If they molt their skin before they clean their legs, they’ll keep right on crawling.
So here I am, weeks later, still inspecting every seat in the house, including the toilets. And yes, I understand that spiders are an important part of nature and that they eat tons of insects each year that might otherwise damage crops or spread diseases. I get it. I’m not a spider hater.
I’m just saying that once they come into my house or toilet uninvited, one of us has to go. And it’s not going to be the one paying the mortgage.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.