Those of you who follow me by means other than this blog will know that yesterday, I suffered a serious chunk of phobic reaction to a spider. The thing was, this spider fit all the descriptions of a black widow, and it was hiding out in the central handle of the garage door. Right where one grabs to swing it up and over. I discovered its presence when I opened the door, after hitting the back yard with herbicide. This didn't exactly make me happy. I spent the afternoon freaking out more than slightly, although not quite to the point of suffering an actual panic attack, and after some useful advice from Ravelry (largely consisting of "DO NOT go get the usual chemical for dealing with spiders, it's nastily toxic to cats") I had calmed down enough to make an attempt on its life.
I prepared with long sleeves, bloused trousers, work gloves and a broom. I was NOT going to be at risk of a bite! I then beat at the door with the broom, finding smaller spiders and squashing them, and destroying egg sacs aplenty. Finally, she came out to play, and I knocked her down. By then, I'd mastered the optimal method of squishing spiders with Panama soled jungle boots, and so she was swiftly vanquished. All her venom availed not against vulcanised rubber with twelve stone of panicked geek bearing down on it.
Anyone wanting to find out if she really was a black widow, feel free to come look. She's the biggest smear of spider juice on the driveway.