Category: things that only happen to Christine

We have an unspoken arrangement that I’m not to go to the ocean without Matthew. We go to the free beach, Vilano, which also happens to be the surf beach. I am no match for the waves. Numerous times Matthew has dragged me up by the arms as I lay fighting in six inches of water.

Today, nothing could motivate me. Not even the second cup of coffee. So many things to do, yet I couldn’t do them. I decided that the only thing that could motivate me was the ocean. But Matthew wasn’t at home.

I felt a surge of adrenaline as I pulled on my bathing costume, knowing I was doing something wicked (me, the naughty gnome, ineffectual but giddy). “This is just what I need,” I thought.

I got in the car wearing only my swimsuit—no cover-up for today’s foray—and I looked up to see a spider. It was the size of a dime, total, but its body was disproportionately large to its legs. The spider was black with yellow or green stripes—I couldn’t quite tell. I looked around for one of my half-used tissues, deciding to kill it. I jabbed, it jumped. I poked, it scurried. The spider moved much faster that the initial languorous pose I found it relaxing in.

Shocking me, the spider fell from the roof of the car and landed in my lap. I jabbed again. It dodged and landed on the floor, but I felt searing pain on my thigh. The spider bit me! Sitting in my car, a tiny black spider bit my leg. I don’t blame it. If someone were trying to jab me with a half-used tissue, I’d bite too, but it hurt quite a bit.

I drove to Vilano anyway, all of this having happened in our home parking spot, but the bite didn’t quit stinging. The ocean fixes everything, so I figured my little wade would solve the problem. It did not.

The bite now looks like a mosquito sting with a red ring about it, and it still burns. I’m trying to decide if I’m going into anaphylactic shock (something I’m fortunately familiar with the symptoms of from my allergy to chicken), and I’m trying to decide what a neurotoxin would feel like. Would I know to call 911?

I’m at home. I can’t find the spider picture on the web (har har), but Matthew read me some of the physical symptoms I should look out for. But, still, a spider bite in the car in the driveway? Come on. It sounds like some sort of put-on, but, no, this falls under the category of Things that Happen to Christine. I should be a Jeopardy column of questions. “On September 1, what poisonous encounter did Christine Wy experience?” Answer: ferocious mystery spider attack.