Why?

I simply have to know. Why am I given knowledge and a biology lession when all I want is for something to be killed? Is it a man thing? I'm curious.

Last night, I went into the laundry room to...what else?....do some laundry. I didn't know I'd have to fight past some distant cousin of Shelob (geek reference!) to get to the freakin' dryer. Checked the Raid can. Flying insects. Well, knowing my luck, the Spider That Ate Manhattan probably also had wings. But I didn't want to take any chances. Back-up plan, then.

"Chris, come kill this spider!"

With the customary roll of his eyes, my husband came to investigate.

Now, I'm assuming you know me fairly well since you're reading my blog. I've never been a fan of spiders. Up until a few years ago, however, I would at least attempt to kill one with a shoe or something if it cropped up in my path. My run-in with brown recluses has changed that. I don't want anything to do with them. Ever. Quite honestly, I'm a little bit surprised that I actually thought about spraying it with poison before calling my husband. No spider is safe from my vengeance. If I see a Daddy Long Legs, I want it dead. I don't want to hear about how it eats other spiders and how it's mouth isn't actually big enough to bite a human. Again, with my luck, I'd run into some sort of mutant Daddy Long Legs that COULD bite me and I'd die and THEN where would I be?

Certainly not writing this blog. But I digress.

'Where is it?' he asks.

'There!' I point, thinking he really DOES need those glasses if he can't see the freakin' HUGE vessel of evil that is currently resting on one of his t-shirts.

As he kills it, I get the inevitable lesson....

'That's a wolf spider'

I don't care. I don't CARE that it's a wolf spider. I don't care if it's Rakdra the Talking Spider from the Kingdom of Polhim, on a mission to establish a peaceful relationship with the human race. It's a SPIDER. I want it dead.

I didn't ask what type of spider it was. Eight-legged. Perhaps if I'd given him the chance to examine it more closely, he would've been able to throw in whether it was male or female.

Is this a guy thing? That you insist on telling us more than we really need to know. Or, sometimes, want to know?

Case in point. And once again, last night.

It's deer season, which means Chris is usually up a tree somewhere in the woods. When he came home last night, he felt the need to tell me that his brother had to come kill a rattlesnake at the base of the tree before Chris could get out of his stand.

See, I didn't need to know this. Now, had he actually been bitten.....then, yeah, I'd have been a little miffed if no one had told me. But no harm, no foul? I know he's out in the woods. I know there are snakes out there. But, see, I can PRETEND that he's perfectly safe. As long as he doesn't volunteer information like this. As far as I'm concerned, he's in his tree stand, watching the cute little squirrels, listening to the birds sing, waiting to shoot a deer. Snakes don't usually enter the picture.

Today, of course, it's the only thing I can think of.

Meh.

Men. Men drive me nuts.