It’s the parenting – not the spider bite – that’s going to kill me. This also answer the question: where do my ideas come from?

The scene: Me driving. Daughter (age 13) in back seat.

Daughter: Dad, there’s a spider back here.

Me: Oh?

Daughter: It’s on the seat.

Me: Oh?

Daughter. It’s on YOUR seat.

Me: Oh?!?!

Daughter: It’s crawling up!

Me: Can you reach him?

Daughter: It’s really big!

Me: Can you reach him?!

Daughter: No… because he’s on your shirt!

Me: Where on my shirt?

Daughter: Now he’s on your pants!

Me: This isn’t funny.

Daughter: And he’s HUGE!

Me: Stop it.

Daughter: ON YOUR LEG! THE SPIDER IS ON YOUR LEG! DAD! DAD! DAD! IT’s….

Me (swerve to curb. throw car into park): WHERE? WHERE?

Daughter: THERE!

Me: (swatting myself wildly like some insane medieval self-flagellator): WHERE? WHERE?

Daughter: You got him!

Me: (pale, dead quarter-sized spider at my feet) Next time, just let him bite me.