Eight-legged foes

I've always grown up with a healthy imagination. One that every now and then I wish was a little less vivid and a little more practical...

Case in point: today I found a ridiculously large spider in my shower (Think a diameter of 2 inches, which in my Monster Book of Monsters makes this guy a legitimate threat), and I'm thinking "Really? Couldn't you live in my closet? Or at least somewhere our lives would never cross... Like next door?" For most, the biggest fear of encountering a giant insect is actually killing it. That is not the case with me. My safety protocol calls for grabbing one of husband's shoes (Chacos are perrrrfect. And yes, I may own a pair as well, but his has waaaay more surface-area-to-killing ratio and aids me when I misaim or when the little giant decides to make a break for it), working up some self-confidence, and simultaneously holding my breath while hitting the intruder. 

So that should be it you may ask? Ah, but it is only the beginning. This little giant has friends, most likely of the Aragog and the Forbidden Forest variety, and when he doesn't come home with fresh meat, they'll come looking for blood. Mine. So the next ten minutes are spent looking over my shoulder for a possible second to finish the duel or even an angry mob of spiders that will haul me off like they did Harry and Ron. And when that frightening period is over, I start to breathe a little easier, and my more pragmatic side takes over with its own form of an eye roll. Welcome to the workings of my brain.