HERE if you missed it.
Maybe you were hoping that would be the start and end of it, but you'd actually be terribly wrong.
I feel the need to share again. I got a little carried away with relating this one, so if you skip this one altogether, don't worry, my feelings won't be hurt. Because really, I'd have no clue if you did or not. This is my blog, my journal, my life, so you go right ahead and pick and choose.
Here we go...
My Guide to Living in Australia
(an outsider's perspective)
I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Huntsman
Before ripping out the Canadian roots of your little family, and planting them down into the hot Australian soil, you lived happily in a state of ignorance. You thought you were afraid of spiders.
You had no idea what a spider was.
There are the spiders of Canada, and then there are the spiders of Australia.
The spiders of Australia will eat the spiders of Canada for lunch. And then use Canadian spider legs to pick their teeth when they're done.
Am I grossing you out?
Let's move on then.
After melting your way through your first few weeks in Australia, you meet Mr. Huntsman. It's late at night, and your doing the rounds of checking on sleeping children and locking doors, when you see IT. "It" is something you thought only existed in horror movies, but there it is... crawling along the wall like he owns the world.
Which he probably does.
You're frozen in fear for a moment, and then find the strength to go get your husband for help.
You know it's bad when even your husband is horrified.
He manages to kill the unsuspecting villain, and then the two of you discuss forever and a day what on earth was that thing. You settle with "it must have been some kind of tarantula." But after sharing the story, and a very detailed description of the beast, people let you know that it was a huntsman spider, perfectly normal, very common... and hey, you shouldn't kill those, those are great! They eat cockroaches!
(You start looking into flights back to Canada)
But after many, many years living in your new country, you don't encounter too many of the nasty things, and when you do, you bump into them outside, and not in your house. So you just go along your merry little way, feeling all safe and sound again.
But THEN.
Which he probably does.
You're frozen in fear for a moment, and then find the strength to go get your husband for help.
You know it's bad when even your husband is horrified.
He manages to kill the unsuspecting villain, and then the two of you discuss forever and a day what on earth was that thing. You settle with "it must have been some kind of tarantula." But after sharing the story, and a very detailed description of the beast, people let you know that it was a huntsman spider, perfectly normal, very common... and hey, you shouldn't kill those, those are great! They eat cockroaches!
(You start looking into flights back to Canada)
But after many, many years living in your new country, you don't encounter too many of the nasty things, and when you do, you bump into them outside, and not in your house. So you just go along your merry little way, feeling all safe and sound again.
But THEN.
One day when you walk into your bedroom, you immediately feel the five thousand eyes of the huntsman staring down at you. You spot him making himself at home on your wall. He's even had the nerve to make himself a little snack. You come close to losing your lunch right there and then, but luckily it's only 9.30 in the morning, and you haven't had lunch yet.
Instead, you pace around your room, wondering what can you possibly do. He's massive. Bug spray is not seeming like a workable option. So, instead you go downstairs, grab your camera, and then take pictures of King Huntsman.
This isn't really helpful, but makes you feel better somehow. You have proof that your morning is not going well at all. Then you call your kids in to look, because underneath all the horror you may be feeling, you are still a homeschooler, and you have a great big live critter for your children to observe. Nature came to you today.
In tromp your army of children, and they ooh and ahh over the spider. They aren't grossed out because they are more Australian than Canadian after all, and have grown up around the thousands of creepy crawlies Australia has to offer. After they have checked him out, they start plotting his death for you. Your oldest son runs out of the room and returns with his nerf gun. He wants to pelt it with nerf bullets. You gently remind him that aggravating a venomous creature is never a good idea. Your third son then suggests that maybe getting a great big hammer and smashing the spider would work well. You sadly remind him that not only is that weirdly inhumane, but it's also messy, and would leave an unfortunate amount of dents and holes in the wall. Your daughter then instructs you to go buy a HUGE, HUGE, HUGE can of bugspray and spray it all on the spider. This seems like an okay idea. You don't have a huge can of bugspray, but you do have two regular sized cans of spray.
Your second son suggests nothing, because he is way too tenderhearted to even think of destroying one of God's creatures. Everyone needs a child like this. He just calmly walks away and leaves the deviousness to the rest of you.
Mr. Huntsman is resting well in his corner on the wall, completely oblivious to the fact that his death warrant has been signed, sealed and delivered. Man did he pick the wrong house today!
In the end, your repulsion drives you to send a message to your husband at work, begging him to come home and take care of the wretched business for you. He calls back and says maybe he can make it home at some point in the day, but really, you should just spray the thing yourself. You thank him for his sympathy, and keep your fingers crossed.
Meanwhile, Señor Huntsman has not moved an inch, despite all the photo taking and the murder plotting, so you decide to just leave him, hope he will continue with the whole not moving an inch thing, and that your husband takes pity on you and shows up.
You check on the intruder approximately 5.26 kazillion times in the next three hours, until your ever patient husband, Mr. Knight-in-shining-armour himself, shows up to save the day. He sprays, he cleans up, he goes back to work. You think about being embarrassed for being such a wimp, but you just can't muster it.
Those things are way too nasty.
THE END.
Since this was such a long winded post, and you've put up with me so well, I'm going to reward you now with a little video of...
"The Hunstman That DARED to Enter the Prepchuk Home..."
"The Hunstman That DARED to Enter the Prepchuk Home..."
Yes, that is dust and cobwebs in MY house (gasp!), I promise I'll make some time to feel ashamed about it later on this week...
(If you're wondering, the child who is so concerned for his Father's safety at the end there, is my dear little Conner)
(If you're wondering, the child who is so concerned for his Father's safety at the end there, is my dear little Conner)