Adventures have slightly altered in the life of Sarah. No more un-wanted hip thrusts from first dates, no more “Boy with the Dragon Tattoo” lineups, no more boys I hardly know thinking it’s a good idea to bite my ear, etc.

I have found that my odd dating encounters defined me a little bit. But don’t worry. I still find ways to put myself in uncomfortable situations that make you want to squeeze your legs together. So maybe, that is what defines me. No one knows. But…

I think most girls get married for three reasons:

Right? I’m actually not even that girly. I don’t scream—I yell like an 11-year-old boy, OK? And not the 11-year-old boy who screams like a girl. Like a boy. And I often just “shoe” away insects so they don’t die. I’m considerate.

I usually keep my cool around tiny creatures, and am fairly rational when it comes to small animals.

And then, there’s brown recluse spiders.

Yeah, no. Nopeeee. No.

I came home from work a couple weeks ago, probably singing “Teenage Dream,” at mute volumes, when I come to the stairs leading to my apartment. And there, on the side of the bottom stair was a fist-sized spider.

Singing, “You think I’m funny, when I tell the punch li—Oh my GOSH!” And I sprinted up the stairs to my apartment, and locked it—Duh. No spiders crawl through a locked door.

That was when I texted my husband for the 27th time in a row without a response that day (I swear he likes me, he’s just “busy”) saying, “Hi, there’s a brown recluse spider on the bottom floor and I need you to come home and kill it.”

No response. Weird.

So then I texted my mom, because you know, I’m actually shocked I didn’t text her first.

Sarah: Is it my responsibility to kill a brown recluse on the bottom floor of the apartment complex if I saw it?

Mother Reid: Yes.

Sarah: NO I’M TOO SCARED WHY DO I HAVE TO?

So. I did what any other brave girl would do on a 90 degree Wednesday afternoon. I put on my rain boots and raincoat and grabbed an IKEA magazine to kill the sucker. Ha, I would show him…

I tiptoed down one flight of stairs, and stood petrified before walking down the extra flight where I knew the spider was. Yeah, I wasn’t going down those stairs any time soon. Decided to ninja-jump on the side instead of going down those stairs. Good solution— don’t even pretend it’s not.

At this point I’m feeling pretty budass, until I turn the corner and see the spider. The size of my hand. Kill me with the spoon. Why am I responsible for this?? So I took a deep breath. Put my hood on. Put my sleeves around my hands. Held up the rolled up magazine…

And with my back to the wall, I reached to my left, turned my knuckles to a door, and knocked. I knocked on my neighbor’s door. Definitely not turning my back on the spider, where he could easily attack. No way.

No answer.

Fine. I took a deep breath. Faced the spider. 1…2…3…

And knocked on the neighbors’ door just next to the first. I’m looking for a grownup (OK, fine, man) to kill this thing. No answer. I’m about to cry. Naturally. I’m so hot, in my raincoat and conversation boots. This is what I will die in.

Then the door opened from the initial door I knocked on. It was a girl. In a purple bathrobe.

I started talking.

“Hi, Sorry, I’m your neighbor, and there’s a scary spider right across from your apartment, and I’m about to kill it, but before I do, I’m wondering, is your husband home, and does he want to kill it?”

Looking back, she’s in a bathrobe. And if her husband’s home, he’s probably also in a bathrobe... or not in a bathrobe… I could have been interrupting…

“No he’s not…”

Eff word. Or phew?

“OK, yeah, no it’s fine. I got this. I mean, haaa, I’m dressed like I got this. So I’ll just be… I’ll kill it.”

“I’ll get a shoe,” said the girl wearing zero battle gear.

“No it’s fine, I got it!” And I stood there. Absolutely not moving. At all. Just staring, my eyes the size of grapes, at the most terrifying animal I’ve ever seen not on a television or computer screen.

She came back, with her husbands shoe in her hand. “No, I really can, you’re only wearing a bathrobe! I’m sorry I’ll do this!”

And I stood there, not moving.

And then she went over to the spider and killed it. But really, I supervised and had my phone in hand in case we needed to call the authorities. So.

Anyway, now she’s my visiting teaching companion. And it’s hard to tell who is really more embarrassed. The girl in the bathrobe, or the girl in the rain boots. But I personally know who should be more embarrassed.

Who buys a purple bathrobe?