Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Around 2:00 this afternoon, I decided that I should probably get around to making the bed, so I sauntered into the bedroom. Before I was able to "tidy up the nursery," if you will, I noticed something moving on the sheets.

It was a spider -- no bigger than the eraser on a pencil, but a spider nonetheless. In my premarriage days, I probably would have been able to take care of it. Now? Not so much. I hurried off to get a glass from the kitchen cupboard and trapped the spider on the bed, to make sure it didn't get away before Jacob got home from work so he could get rid of it. Naturally, I had to check up on it every 10 or 15 minutes to make sure it hadn't escaped its makeshift cage.

Then -- then! Not 45 minutes later I decided to pull out our sleeping bag for us to take on our upcoming trip to California. I carried it from the spare bedroom to the front room and set it down, and guess what popped out at me, much like the Huns popping out of the snow like daisies? Another spider. But this time it was a fatty one.

Reader, I screamed. And then I hopped around looking for some protection for my feet. In hindsight, perhaps flip flops aren't the best protection.

Out came glass number two. But this time I had to shake it into the glass, as it was stubbornly clinging to the sleeping bag. And once I had captured my prey, I hopped around some more until I set it on the table and set a piece of paper over the top.

A surefire, sealed cage for sure.

Upon further inspection, I thought it might have the markings of a brown recluse spider, so I decided to Google some images of such spiders. But the results included pictures of gangrenous flesh as a result of such spider bites, and I quickly closed out of that window.

Jacob won't be home for two more hours (he's working late so he doesn't have to take paid time off for our vacation). Every time my phone vibrates or I feel a stray hair brushing against my arm, I jump a little.

I may not be able to sleep tonight.