Spiders. I know you’re not supposed to “hate” anything, but I do. And as sure as Murphy’s law exists, as soon as I write it, or think it, I’ll see one. But it’s a challenge, so:
Growing up on a farm, we had hay barns. We grew it, cut it, bailed it and forked it to feed animals. We also played in it, a lot. We had sleepovers in it. The hay barn was a delight for children, not always a safe place, but fairly so. We liked to play Tarzan by using ropes to swing from one part of the barn’s hay lofts to another. Luckily my mom’s not alive to read that! But there were lots of creatures in the form of big, and I’m not talking just big, but huge hairy spiders in the rafters.
My two best friends didn’t seem to be as frightened of them as I was and one sleepover in the loft they brought flashlights and delighted on focusing those lights on the spiders. Even though I had a friend on each side during the night, I was petrified.
This lasted all of my life until my husband passed away in 2013. Living in an old house in CO, I had to dispose of these creatures myself. No more yelling for my husband to come kill it. If he heard a shriek he knew instantly what it was about. One funny memory I have mentioned here before was him on all fours, looking for a spider that had me trapped on the bathroom stool in the middle of the night. You gotta love a guy like that☺️
Now, don’t listen to this, Murphy, but living in a new sounder structure, I rarely see any creatures. If I do I dispose of them myself, no shrieks. 🤞🏻🎃