Allow me to state for the record that I am not a fan of spiders.

In fact, I am the exact opposite of being a fan of spiders.

In fact, on the list of things that bum me out, spiders rank somewhere between being eaten alive by polar bears and a nuclear holocaust.

Everything about them–from their beady eyes to their spindly, hairy legs–seems sinister and malevolent and completely unworthy of my compassion.

Mind you, I am not this way about most of God’s less fluffy creations.

Snakes?  No problem.

Lizards?  Let’s dance.

Bats?  Bring ’em on.

But spiders?

Let me put it this way:  If I had my choice of being hit in the face repeatedly with a shovel or having a Daddy Long Legs crawl on my arm, I’d go ahead and pop some Extra Strength Excedrin and clear my schedule for the next week or so.

So, it’s cosmically fitting that this would appear in our bathroom this weekend:

Allow me to reiterate: THIS…

…IS LIVING IN OUR BATHROOM.

It found itself a nice little vantage point on the ceiling above our shower Sunday morning and, since Katie and I each have a strict No Contact policy when it comes to icky things (and have been so far unsuccessful in convincing the other to amend hers), has been leering at us from up there for two whole days now.

Look, I’m fully aware that spiders are part of the Great Circle of Life or whatever, but if this is Nature’s attempt to teach me some integral lesson on how to peacefully coexist with my eight-legged brethren, it was a poor location choice because, sorry, but I find it a tad hard to sympathize with the plight of something that has seen me in all my naked, vulnerable, soaking wet glory.

This will not do.  If it’s still there after work today, decisions will need to be made.  Strategies devised.  Perimeters secured.  Attacks mounted.

And I wish Katie all the best with that.

Tonight, I’ll be sleeping at the office.