When I was a kid, I used to have a recurring dream about walking up rickety old wooden stairs into a spider infested house. I was never really frightened, instead I recall a faint whiff of resignation. I knew it was bad, I knew I was going up there, I knew there was no way around it.
Surprisingly, this hasn't particularly scarred me. I don't mind spiders, and I never saw their presence as a personal affront. If they were brazen enough to scutter in front of me in daylight, they would get squashed, and I swept their webs from the windows (well, the front windows, anyway... ) but otherwise we held an easy truce.
Until today. Peanut woke with a bite on her arm. The spiders brought the war to the Accidental Household, and made it personal. But I plan to end it.
They have been massing their interior forces for some time, probably because the backyard flooding required an exodus to higher ground. I have been squishing more daylight runners and cleaning more webs. I even cracked out the lemon oil to try and dissuade them. But now tipping point has been reached. I threw out my mostly-crunchy ideals and cracked out the bug spray. It's Total War, Accidental Style. The bedrooms are marinating in chemicals as I type. In a few minutes I'll throw open the windows, set the air conditioner to "tornado" and try to make them habitable again (for us, not the spiders).
Hopefully they're decimated and beat a hasty retreat. If not, I'm coming after the rest.
Run spiders, run!