Arachnophobia!

Not two years ago, if I found a spider in the bathroom I'd scream like a banshee. Just ask my wife. "Karen! A spider!" "So?" "Do something, anything!" Yes, those were the days. A time of peace and tranquility, when I didn't share my bedroom with forty tarantulas. Yeah, you heard me. It wasn't always this way. As a kid, I used to catch flies and throw them into spider webs. And before you ask, no, I didn't wet the bed, set fires, or torture small animals (except by feeding flies to spiders, of course). I'm not sure when spiders began creeping me out, or why. I do know that I got over it fairly quickly. Nothing like constant exposure to take you past your fears. Once Karen started collecting, oh boy did she start collecting. She says it's a chick thing. Think about it. Tarantulas could be feminist mascots. The females are bigger, faster, smarter, and longer-lived than males. They control the sexual encounter, not the boys. For every time a male eats a female, it goes the other way 1000 times. Nor does the female always eat the male after sex. If she has a good time, she's free to keep him around for future flings. But back to the main focus of this blog: me. I mean, arachnophobia. I still won't let the tarantulas crawl on me, but I help Karen out from time to time. Lifting cages, for example -- I'm good at that. And pointing things out. "Oooh, Karen, look at the fat ass on that one." For the arachnophobes in my audience, I'm going to give you a gradual introduction to spiders. Desensitization therapy: that's the name of the game. We'll begin with the new image for Karen's blog (over there on the right somewhere). Isn't she cute? And so yummy, too. Is there anything better than candy corn fangs? D.