Me and Janet Leigh (screech screech screech)

San Francisco is blessedly free from bugs and pests in general, which is good since my windows remain open year-round and none of them have screens. The worst I have to deal with is the single annual mosquito who finds her way into my bedroom and interrupts my sleep by buzzing in my ear and vanishing the moment I give up suffocating beneath the sheets, flip on the light, and lunge around the room with a rolled up magazine.

Anyway, rarely do I encounter anything worse than that, including spiders - to my relief given my total and irrational fear of spiders. This fear is ridiculous, I'm aware, but completely beyond my control, and probably dates back to the clearly-remembered moment when, at the age of 5ish, I wadded up a tissue and bent down to squash one of those tiny little hairy house spiders on the bathroom wall. Those little buggers were remarkably nimble and as I closed in on it, with a distinct "boink" sound (surely not imagined), it sprang squarely to the middle of my forehead.

Ever since then, the sight of a spider from across the room is enough to set off my flight-or-fight reponse, torn between the urge to be in a far distant corner of the house and the need to stay close at hand so I know exactly where the thing is at all times lest it make a break for my bedroom where it would... I don't even know what, crawl across my prone body or something equally dreadful... while I slept. And each spiderweb in the face (of which there are many, I assure you, as a tall person) sends me into momentary panic wondering where the originator has got to.

Because of their rarity, it's been a while since I gave any thought to spiders, but in the last 2 days they've been the subject of several conversations as a friend and I recalled clutching each other in terror in Tuscany as tarantulas invaded the villa on the last night, my boss told me of the black widow she discovered in a bunch of grapes she bought at Safeway, and someone told me of the enormous spiders she was battling lately in her bathroom.

So of course, because that's the way the world works, this morning as I was at my most vulnerable -- naked in the shower -- what do I see (even without my glasses) on the ceiling directly overhead as I leaned back to wash my hair? It was enormous, gargantuan, horrifying, and it was staring right back at me with all 8 of its awful eyes. Seriously.

I fought the urge to scream, though I will admit to an involuntary gasp, and I finished my shower awkwardly, refusing to take my eyes off the thing should it decide to drop onto my bare shoulder when I turned my back. I even resisted the temptation to seek roommate assistance since I have yet to live down the mouse incident.

Fortunately, Shelob hadn't wandered far by the time I returned (with clothing and proper eyewear) to escort it elsewhere* with the end of the very long broom handle.

*and by elsewhere, I mean into the next world with a flush of the toilet. Sorry all you live-and-let-livers but I couldn't risk it coming back through an open window seeking revenge.