My mom is an elementary school teacher, and pinecones are pretty much a staple when it comes to arts and crafts. So one autumn day we gathered boxes of pinecones before loading back up in the minivan and making the 30-40 minute drive back home. As we were driving, my Dad suddenly reaches to the backseat and snatches my beret off my head without saying a word.
Alarmed, my mom looked at him, and he said that there was a spider crawling across my beret, so he had to get it. A little freaked out but thankful for my rescue, I looked down at the pinecones sitting next to me.
Dozens of spiders were crawling all over the pinecones. I'm not sure what sort of crappy horror movie we had been written in to, but this wasn't okay. I had watched enough of Arachnophobia to know that this was VERY BAD NEWS. I unbuckled and crouched the best I could between my parents' seats the rest of the way home, eyes glued to the bastardly pinecones the remainder of the way home.
Cut to today. I'm not sure what we were thinking when we bought our house. You know, the house that's sort of in a wooded area. The one where the backyard looks like this.
You hear about "spider season". At my house, EVERY SEASON IS SPIDER SEASON. I'm constantly shrieking, dry-heaving, and running like Flo Jo to skirt them. It's a season of constant terror and ample stock of long-range insecticide.
Screw compassion. Self-preservation is where it's at.