Oh my god flashback to the night my mam killed a tarantula (in the UK? I hear you ask, worryingly, all will be revealed) because of me. You see I am scared of anything with more legs, wings and/or is faster than me. I don’t like hairy, creepy crawlies and definitely not spiders, yak! So believe me when I say if I see something move out of the corner of my eye, I will crap myself and run. Panic and swearing will ensue.
So I came home from a night out with a friend and went to go and put some rubbish in the bin, when I unlocked the door I shit myself when I saw a moving thing/being attached to the window by the door. Luckily this time I could make out the fact that it was a frog, it could have been so much more bloody for said frog otherwise.
You see when I was a teenager, me and my mam were listening to the thunder and lightning with the door open, living on the edge, I know. Anyway we closed the door, went to watch TV and then a little later I went back out into the kitchen to do something and decided to check the weather out of the door. To see how it was, to my horror I saw a tarantula in the door, screamed and slammed the door shut. My mam came flying into the kitchen, thinking I was being killed, or something. She asked what the hell was the matter and I told her about our visitor, the tarantula. She said there was no way it was a tarantula, after all we did live in the North East of England and that she betted that it was a tiny spider and I was overreacting. You guessed it, when my mam opened the door, the one thing she did not expect to see was a squashed frog! I do admit I felt guilty, but I just panicked (a bit like the Halloween I kicked a clown in a bar, as I am scared of them. It is a natural reaction!). Well neither of us knew what to do with the crime scene, never mind the victim, so off we went to a neighbour to ask him to dispose of it for us.
So he came down, rather inebriated, (thus all the more freaked and finding it all hilarious), to rescue the damsels (and cold blooded killer, that was me) in distress.
Using a Vitalite tub (other brands are available, should you wish to use this tip) he flicked in the squashed frog and Frisbee’d it to the end of his own garden and I have to say he had a canny throw on him, so that small beast flew rather well.
The next morning I still felt a pang of guilt, but a least we could now laugh about the strange night before. That was until we went to leave the house! I kid you not that bloody squashed frog had made its way down to the front door to die right outside it! Where it got the strength from I will never know, but it meant that I felt even more guilty and sure that it did this on purpose to make me pay. Needless to say the frog is buried in my mam’s back garden, in a wooden coffin, made by my uncle, with a plastic sword as it’s gravestone. That frog had a better funeral than most people, but I guess it deserved it, after it’s grizzly end, poor thing.