I was the victim of a vicious attack. In my own home. If Nicole hadn't been there I don't know what I would have done. Probably scream and cry and jump up and down flapping my hands. Wait, yeah that's pretty much what I did anyway.
As I sat barefoot at my computer the culprit sauntered into my room without even the decency to recognize that he was out of place and unwelcome. And I tell you, if EVER a spider looked smug it was this one.
Also, let me clarify. I'm not talking, "oh no. a spider equivalent to the size of a quarter hiding behind my bookcase. whatever shall I do." I'm talking, "what is that small hamster doing in the middle of my room and OH MY GOSH THAT'S NOT A HAMSTER OR ANY VARIATION OF CUTE FUZZY MAMMAL AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WHY DO THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?" It was a beefcake in the worst sense possible.
Although I registered some movement in my periph it wasn't until Nicole alerted me to his presence with an informative, "holy crap that thing is HUGE!" Somehow within two milliseconds I was on the other side of the door, peering into the room and trying not to convulse as I curled my toes under my feet as tightly as possible.
After some failed shoe-squishing attempts it was decided that the only way to catch this mongrel was to call in the big guns (read: vacuum cleaner of death.) I'm sure this is what vacuum engineers had in mind when designing the hose attachment. After letting the bug-sucker run for about 5 minutes we finally consented to switch it off, and store it in the garage lest the mutant crawl OUT of the vacuum and resume his reign of terror.
For the rest of the night every stray hair and every wisp of dust was in my mind a blood sucking hell-monster bent on tormenting me for his evil purposes. Luckily I made it through the ordeal unharmed. Well, mostly. The next morning I discovered something on my leg and for the first time EVER I prayed for a pimple.
No. This was not something I could have handled on my own. I think it's finally time to invest in one of these. Or reconsider my fall-back plan: a bee-keeper outfit marinated in bug spray.