When my wife comes screaming about a spider it’s usually so fukking tiny I can’t even find it or it’s long gone by the time I get there. So I’ll just yell out “got him”, ball up a tissue and flush it. I ain’t wasting a half hour trying to hunt down a speck of a spider. Fukk that.
I see them all the time outside, but unless they are directly in the path of something I’m trying to do I leave them be. Now, I would climb up a 40ft extension ladder to kill a brown recluse. I hate those bastards.
True story. 30 years ago, I flew to San Francisco on business. I’m there, I got my rental car, checked into a motel, called the missus (not Gypsy, a prior wife) to give her phone numbers in case she needs to reach me.
Fast forward five minutes…I’m running hot water for a shower, the phone rings. “That’s odd,” I muse - “nobody knows where I am except the Olady” so I pick up.
“HONEY THERES A SNAKE ON THE FRONT PORCH”
“I see…and what are you thinking I’ll be able to do about it from 2000 miles away?”