There are often spiders in the bathroom at my house. Because I am a man, I pretend not to be bothered. In reality, I eye them warily and the second they scuttle towards me, scream like a little girl and run outside.
Even the tiny ones.
::sigh:: My best joke all week, and nobody even notices.
I noticed, and pointed it out to my co-worker. We did an Inigo Montoya riff last week. 
“The S.O.U.S.*s? I don’t believe they exist.” thud
*Spiders of Unusual Size
Sailboat
Yay! I love Princess Bride. And spiders. I have a lovely banana-spider who’s made a lovely laddered web between my patio screen and eaves. I like to watch them.
Ha ha ha, yeah! Because someone twenty, thirty feet or so from the mayhem wouldn’t see the spiders, they’d just see a bunch of people going completely ballistic.
Though I must say, that image gives me the heebie jeebies like only Rosie O’Donnell can, which is saying something. What really creeps me out about spiders is the way they move, so graceful and yet so creepy. It’s odd how I can see something as elegant and freaky at the same time.
I suppose I would be more wary of spiders if I lived in an area where they had fucked up flesh destroying venom, but here in California they’re mostly harmless. We have black widows in some parts but I’ve never seen one. Hell, I wish I had some spiders in my new apartment to eat the damn flies. I tend to find corpses of flies laying around that died of exhaustion because they couldn’t find the exit.