Reading Claudette Elizondos account on FaceBook of how her backyard was invaded recently by a host of locusts, known locally as langostas, I was reminded of the time I came home with my daughters and, after parking in the garage, unlocking the door and walking into the kitchen, daughter 1 casually announced “Hey Dad, there’s a spider on your back”.
“So swipe it off” I reply, equally casual, making a swiping movement in the air to demonstrate the technique.
“It’s a big spider” replies my observant and not-to-be-ruffled daughter, who evidently has ice in her veins. “I don’t want to touch it” she adds. Daughter 2 looks on in disgust.
Now I am starting to wonder what the hell is crawling around on my back.
I take a spatula from that ceramic pot where we keep our utensils. “Here, use this” I say, handing it to her. She looks hesitant and I raise my voice. “Knock the spider off my back, OK?”
She takes a moment and then, in one swing, manages to dislodge what I can now see is a rather huge tarantula that lands on the kitchen floor with what I am sure is a thud, although it could have been my imagination firing away upon registering the size of the black hairy beast.
Without much ado, and thankful that here in Merida we don’t have that North American habit of removing our shoes upon entering our house, I quickly stomp on it and the spiders life comes to an abrupt, squishy end.
“Yuck” say my daughters.
I thank her and go off in search of a broom.