The death of arachnids (or their imprisonment in glass jars, or eviction through open windows at the end of a mop handle) is a two-person job. One person has to freak out so the other is forced into taking action, jabbing brooms and dustpans at the creepy crawly while making soothing noises at their less-together partner and talking in calming tones about how the eight-legged beastie is probably more frightened of them than they are of it. This is the dichotomy of spider killing. One wuss and one hero. And it doesn't even need a guy to save the day - Aussie ladies are plenty good at dispatching insects of all kinds. It just helps to have an adoring audience. Without a partner, I'm forced to take both roles. Whimpering while trying to convince myself I'm brave enough to duel with that massive huntsman on my own. Also, there is no one to savour victory with afterwards. Which is why I sometimes high-five myself.
Pui Pui Tam, Frankie magazine (Sep/Oct 2010)