Spider Date: 08.2025.3

I had devastating news today via text. My husband picked up the mail on the way home.

But we haven’t had a frost yet! Panic skittered like lighting under my skin.

The spider probably had babies by now in the mailbox. I didn’t even want to think about how long babies incubate in the egg sack. It’s bad enough that mice breed every two weeks.

(You’re welcome people who are terrified of mice.)

I drove up the lane, pondering how many spiders might be scurrying across my floor with their long, hairy legs, tapping their fangs together.

Maybe I could stay at a hotel tonight.

A pile of mail was scattered on the kitchen counter.

There were boxes, manilla envelopes, bills, credit card offers, AARP membership applications (that alone was horrifying. I’m not that old.) I scanned the mail like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of coyotes. My heart literally bounced in my chest.

“Did you tap the envelopes on the mailbox?” I whispered.

“No,” my husband replied washing his hands in the sink.

I swallowed an enormous lump in my throat.  I had to get the envelopes. There were bills to pay, and I am highly protective of my credit score.

My fingers brushed across the manilla enveloped, tweaking it just slightly. I snatched the regular envelopes, backing away, an adrenaline spike rocketing through me.

My husband just stared at me. “Are you alright?”

“Yup. Fine. I’ll be right back,” I said, holding the envelopes at arm’s length away from my body. I rushed into the office, cleared the already cluttered desk with my free arm and gave the envelopes a solid whack on the desk. Then threw the envelopes on the floor, shut the door quickly, took a deep breath.

Just to be safe, I will not open the door for a week. You never know where the babies might be.

But inside the office were my beloved books. What if spiders enjoyed books?

Well this would be the last time I read a real book until winter. I do have my Kindle as a backup.

The rest of the manilla envelopes, I’d let my son open. He loved to open Amazon packages. I might even lie and tell him they were his.

And when he opens them, I will be outside, pretending to start the grill, stare at the birds, pet the cats, something.

Crisis averted for now.