There is a spider in the window, and my wife is freaking out about it.
The spider is outside.
The window is closed.
None of this matters to her, of course. It’s a spider, and it is big and scary, and it’s sitting in a sticky web the size of a beach ball, and the wind is making it wave back and forth menacingly, so to my wife it might as well be Shelob and she might as well be Frodo and the baby might as well be… I don’t know… Gimli, I guess.
I would be Aragorn. Or maybe Gandalf. No, definitely Aragorn.
Erin: “I hate spiders.”
Me: “Why? They eat the bad bugs, like flies and… junebugs?”
Erin: “I don’t care. Spiders are gross.”
Me: “But they make really pretty webs.”
Erin: “The webs are gross. So are the spiders. I hate them. I want them to die. Can you kill that one?”
Me: “No, I’m not killing that one. It isn’t doing anything. It’s just sitting there, being a spider. A big one.”
Erin: “You’re afraid because that one jumped out at you that one time, aren’t you.”
Erin: “Aren’t you?”
Me: “It just moved so fast. Stupid spiders.”