Hi friends, my name is RTA and I have arachnophobia. Not the crippling kind, where even the tiniest spider crawling across a table freaks me out beyond measure, but it is acute. I emphatically avoid movies like Eight Legged Freaks and large-ish spiders in general. (Yes, Return of the King is going to be a trial.) I don’t want to see them, discuss them, hear about them, or even THINK about them and their beady-eyed, hairy-legged, poisonous, blood-sucking ways. A big spider in my house is a clear and present danger to homeland security.
Recent weeks and months have seen a print advertisement campaign for something called SPDRs. Some stock deal where you, whatever, not relevant to this discussion. Buy a stock that encapsulates all the S&P 500, or something. I don’t want a SPDR. I would never own a SPDR. I wouldn’t drive a Spyder if I won one.
Last night I was reading my new magazine and turned the page to find a filthy disgusting life-sized furry yellow tarantula sitting on the page staring up at me eightfold. “Aieeeee!” I said. “Aieeeee!”
Generally I have been folding over the page with the ad on it so I can keep reading (taking care not to actually touch the picture with my fingers! Yuck!). This new half-page ad business is bunk. How are you supposed to concentrate on the text with that unspeakable horror right there in your face?
Fortunately magazines come with these great slips of cardstock that you can send in to get a subscription. A little scotch tape to fasten said cardstock over said image of said unspeakable horror, and I merrily continue my reading. Until the next time.