Sitting on the dock of the bay

The other day my coworker felt something in her sleeve. She assumed it was stray hair. She assumed wrong. After repeated irriatation she stretched her sleeve and took a peek to find eight legs creeping upward. A brown recluse. A brown recluse was in her sleeve. I don't know how she lived. They don't kill apparently, but I think my heart would have stopped at first sight of the wretched creature. With the exception of used bandaids, I would rather see anything near me than see a spider. I would rather come home to find a crocodile in the bath tub, a cougar in the kitchen and an actual monster under the bed than to come home and find spiders lurking in our dwelling's secluded corners. They're too small. They're too undetectible. They're too eager to let me swallow them in my sleep which happens nine times a year according to elementary school playground lore.