As
I was scrolling through writing assignments from my writing class last year, I
came across a research paper about arachnophobia. I shall spare you the first
two points, which consist of definitions, statistics, and facts, and leave you with the third point, which, I hope, will provide some
amusement and also enlighten you as to why I despise spiders.
…Finally,
now that you have been informed as to what arachnophobia is and have been given
an idea of how many people have it, be prepared to hear a personal example,
confirming that arachnophobia is a very real thing. Personally, I have
experienced three reactions when meeting an eight legged horror, each including
an accelerated heart rate. Reactions are either frozen fear, the more
ninja-like reaction which often includes shrieks of terror and a very prompt
exit of the room, or, in the case of bravery or self sacrifice, a speedy
execution of the spider.
First
and foremost, allow me to share an instance of my heroic valor. A while back,
my sister and I were organizing our room. On the floor lay an innocent looking
bag of clothes. In the next second, a hairy, beady-eyed spider leapt out of the
bag and started racing about the room. Horrified, yet aware that this evil
creature would hide away in a corner and have children, I leapt into action and
grabbed the nearest shoe with a shaking hand and brought it down as hard as I
could on Sir Creepy. Yes, I felt rather courageous.
As
for instances of the first reaction mentioned, which was extreme fear, I
particularly remember a day about two years ago. As I was diligently cleaning
our downstairs bathroom, shaking out the throw rug, my heart stopped as I
spotted a Hobo spider who had managed to camouflage himself into our rug.
Leaping onto the toilet, I let out a weak cry for help. No answer. As I was
assessing what I had for a means of escape, Hobo’s hairy twin crept out from
another corner. Petrified, I jumped onto the bathtub and held the toilet bowl
scrubber, shrieking in utter terror. They began to close in. As my terror grew,
my legs turned to jelly and my screams turned into hysteric sobs. In between
gasps for breath, I could hear my sisters doing the dishes upstairs. Every
minute felt like an eternity. Finally, after the longest ten minutes of my
life, Mother came home and, strangely, everyone began to notice the hysterical
voice emanating up the stairs. As my mother opened the bathroom door with a
look of worry on her face, I motioned to Hobo and his brother. Mother managed
to kill one of the offenders, but the other got away. It took two months for me to even step into
that bathroom again. Today, I still closely examine the throw rugs and corners
upon entry. In addition to that anecdote, there are many other stories I could
share, a few of which include spiders in my clothes, under the toilet seat, in
my hair, on my ceiling, and sunning themselves on my leg. Arachnophobia is very
real.
...With the above stories in mind (which, I might add, are more than slightly embarrassing), I hope you will sympathize with those close to you who may have a phobia of arachnids.
