Trying to escape a drunken row my neighbors were having at "before the sun is awake" a.m. I decided to go hiking. I had heard of this thing called "the sunrise" before and decided to check it out. So after spending half an hour getting ready because I never go into nature without jolly ranchers I opened the door. There was a tarantula crawling up my stairwell about a foot away from my head. I don't know what the proper protocol is for a tarantula sighting. I hope it's running back into the house, locking the door, calling everyone I know at 6am, watching youtube videos about tarantulas eating cats and refusing to leave the house ever again.
I've always championed waiting to marry a boy I actually liked instead of settling but I'll admit in this moment I wish I had married one of those loser guys. Any of those loser guys. The apartment manager says that these particular tarantulas don't have mouths big enough to bite and that they will spray. So I'll probably never see one again, and if I do it's really no more harmful than a pipe cleaner, but they look so scary. I try to tell myself that s/he is someone's parent and has a heart of gold that the outward appearance has to protect. S/he probably coaches intramural soccer for underprivileged spiders on the weekend. I'm also turning it into an unofficial holiday. If you see a tarantula you get to take off work and eat brownies and basically do whatever you want. So Happy First and Hopefully Last Tarantula Day!