Spiders are amazing, at a distance. I am a slight arachnophobe, or, if you like, a wuss. I know they're not going to hurt me. I know that I am 432 times bigger than they are. But, you see, they've got so many legs. And they're hairy. And, let's be frank, who needs that many eyes?
This black and yellow argiope is gorgeous, and is perched in the hosta next to our carport. And though the spider is beautiful, I don't want to find it in my house or hanging above my bed as I wake up. I certainly wouldn't want it crawling toward me as I went to the bathroom. (Speaking from experience, however, the bottom of the trash can works in a pinch.) The spider is roughly 9 cm from claw to claw (kitty-corner). That's precisely huge. Now maybe you live in a rain forest and you're chuckling at my "little" spider. Maybe so. But I come from the Great White North, nearly, and spiders don't reach this size unless they are feeding on radioactive bugs. There's something deep down that tells me they just aren't supposed to be this big. But North Carolina does things differently. They keep the temperature cranked up to 90 until October. When they say barbeque, they don't mean chicken or ribs, but chopped pork (which, by the way, is delectable). And when they say spiders, they mean monsters that pull babies from their cribs.
I've told the kids they can look at the spider, but they cannot touch it or its web. I can imagine going outside and seeing the spider wrapping up the boy in a slew of web. Worse yet, perhaps, would be to go outside and see those long, hairy legs poking out from the boy's grinning mouth.