Living out in the sticks was initially an abhorrent idea to me. Too many horror movie flashbacks would fly through my brain whenever the idea came up.
The first time I stepped on Texas soil, my (not yet then) Father-in-law temporarily loaned us the 'keys' (metaphorically speaking - I'm not sure it's doors were ever locked) to a Hill Country home in a beautifully romantic and remote spot right here in town. We would live there in trade for mowing the unkempt lawn, which was more the size of a football field. Still, it was a great arrangement...
Until it got dark. And I needed to pee.
There was a toilet, but it wasn't connected to the main building. My (not yet then) husband refused to accompany me, insisting I was being a wuss, and so I had to put on my big girl panties. I took a torch and ran like billy-ho, convinced I was being chased by a chainsaw wielding maniac, or Jason, or some other blood thirsty crazy that had nothing better to do but sit out in the middle of nowhere waiting for a young couple to terrorize for about 90 minutes or so (depending on the Flick).
I was running so scared that I almost ran straight into the largest cobweb I'd ever seen. It spanned the entrance way into the outhouse like a human size net, leaving little crawl space below. Silly me! Here I was fixating on the wrong scary movie. Scenes from Arachnophobia quickly started to manifest in my mind. My fear reached an all new high, as I looked upon the magnificent beast, watching me from the center of it's shiny spindled home. I must have swallowed my scream, because I don't remember my (not yet then) husband coming to rescue me.
I took control of my fear and composed myself, breathing steadily. It was huge. Larger than any uncaged spider I'd ever seen, and it had yellow stripes on all eight legs. Like a nasty wasp-spider mutant. Wow! And then I did something amazing. I crawled under that terrifying mutant wasp-spider predator. And had my pee. I never took my eyes off him the whole time. Then I crawled back underneath him, and ran hell for leather back to the 'relative' safety of the main house. I was pumped with adrenalin at my bravery, and so excited to have been so close to such a malevolent creature.
Ok, so it was a garden spider. An innocent, non-biting, friendly garden spider. The kind that everyone here loves to home in their garden. Apparently a lovely (LOVELY?), friendly spider that gets rid of all the nasty bugs and mosquitoes. Ok, I'll give them that. I hate mosquitoes. They have a preference for my blood over my hubbies and he loves to stand real close to me when we're under attack.
The wasp-spider mutant wasn't the worst of my fears that night. Once I had gotten over my near death experience at the outhouse I laid awake the entire night listening to the sounds of the wild coming from all sides of the building. Ticking and chirping, rustling and flapping. My body was on high alert ready to spring into action against any would be attacker. All the while my (not yet then) husband slept soundly uncaring that we could be axed to death in our beds and the world would be none the wiser until..... well until someone came in search of us. It could have been days!
We didn't get murdered. But we did only last one night in that lovely secluded spot, which wasn't all that secluded looking back. We drove past the place last year on our way to a party and had a good giggle at the not at all 'remoteness' of the place. Yes there was a huge field, but probably little more than an acre, fenced in, with a neighbouring home and a cow on the adjacent acre plot. The house next door was closer than our present neighbours are.
And the funny thing is, these days, that's just the way I like it.
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