My Unwelcome Housemate: The Spider Saga

For weeks now, I’ve had a roommate who refuses to pay rent, refuses to show himself, and worst of all, refuses to leave. My very own spiderly Houdini. That’s right—I have a resident spider, an elusive, web-slinging escape-artist who’s turned my nightly routine into a slapstick horror show.

Now, I know this little intruder is lurking about because every night, without fail, I’m greeted by his signature welcome: a face full of spider webs. It’s like a surprise party that I never wanted, complete with sticky decorations!

My evening routine is simple. Shower, de-stress, find my zen. But to keep my cool, I have to navigate a treacherous path to switch on my ceiling fan. The fan switch is nestled in a corner beside a bookshelf, so far out of reach that I’ve been forced to develop an athletic prowess I didn’t know I had. I’m practically a Cirque du Soleil audition away from the big time.

Picture this: I’m there, contorted in a position the human body should not be able to achieve, one leg flung out, arm reaching for the switch ​like an acrobat, and just when I think I’ve made it—BAM!—face full of spider silk. Houdini has struck again.

I tell you, this spider has got me tracked. It’s like he waits for me to get nice and squeaky clean before he swoops in with, “Aha! Time to redecorate!”

Now, I’ve tried everything short of calling in an exorcist to get rid of him. I’ve vacuumed, I’ve wiped, I’ve karate-chopped the air in every corner. But no matter how thorough I am, he’s back the next night, with a web that looks like it was assembled by a drunken toddler with a glue stick. Honestly, I’ve seen finer craftsmanship in a bowl of instant noodles.

When I finally catch him (oh yes, there will be a showdown), I plan to hold him accountable for his architectural failures. You see those gorgeous webs outside, shimmering in the morning dew? Not here. Here, I’m stuck with a spider who must’ve skipped art class and gone straight for the “How to Annoy Humans” seminar.

And my wife? Oh, she finds this endlessly entertaining. “It’s your punishment for hoarding all those books,” she laughs. Having a library is the universal sign for “spiders welcome.” She’s convinced this ghostly pest is here to audit my library.

In fairness, I have to give my invisible friend some credit. His sheer dedication is impressive. Every evening, he sets up his web in whatever haphazard design he can muster only to have me obliterate it nightly. But does he pack up and find another corner? Oh, no. He’s back the next day with yet another monstrosity with all the artistic merit of spaghetti thrown at a wall. They say true artists don’t let rejection get them down, and this guy is living proof.

So here’s to you, invisible web-weaver: may your webs be ever sticky, your designs ever catastrophic, and your sense of timing as inconvenient as ever.

And me? At least now I’m laughing about it. Well, when I’m not cursing, that is.