One lucky gal

Last Saturday, James cleaned the garage, and I helped. "Is this a black widow?" he asked, pointing to a corner above the concrete floor. 

"If it's black, odds are that it is," I replied. 

Oh, yeah, it was definitely a black widow.

"You know I have to kill it, right?" James said.

I use the word "said" because he did not say it like a question.

"Yes, I know," I replied. 

I had turned and was heading into the house so he could perform the execution when I heard him say, "Unless you have something to put her in....."
 

"OK!"

In the kitchen, I hurriedly found a jar in a cabinet, then ran back out to the garage. 

"You're NOT THE MAN I MARRIED!" I wailed, jokingly. 

Because he's not. The guy I married five years ago next Monday would have killed that spider or any spider on the spot! Now he has a new appreciation for them. 

Even black widows. 

I know, I know, you're think we're both nuts.

At any rate, the widow stayed in the jar a few days. Now and then, James would pick up the jar from the dining room window sill and peer at her.

"You didn't want to be born a black widow, did you?" James would murmur in his soothing voice. "I bet you wanted to be a crab spider!"

(Yes, James now talks to spiders, too. I've ruined him.)

Yesterday, the three of us got in the car and headed to San Antonio for Easter with James' family. However, on the way, James pulled over on a ranch road (which will remain unidentified), and I jumped out of the car with the jar in my hands. I walked way over to some brush and dumped out the widow. Or at least, I tried to dump her out. She didn't want to leave her cobweb. So I got a little stick and encouraged her to vacate the premises. Which she did. Then she scrambled under a dead twig.  

Three hours later, we headed back home.

"So do you want to stop and check on the black widow?" I teased James.

"NO," he said, shaking his head firmly.

James DOES have his limits.