A black, hairy date in London town

Location: Naked in London, with something big, black and hairy winking at me…

Staying the night at a new gentleman caller’s house, under the strict, classy-gal policy of ‘no shagging, just willy-touching over jeans’, I saw it.

I only popped to the bathroom to give the lady lips a pre-fumble freshen-up, and there it was.

Big. Black. Hairy.

I’m not talking about the shower plug hole – or the stranger that asked me to marry him at Brixton tube, I’m talking about ‘it’, the jet-black spider.

I froze. Knickers down, eyes on it.

Spiders, like the runs, saunter over uninvited when you are in your most fragile state; naked in the bathroom.

Mid-wee, the spider sprinted towards me like Gatlin brazenly going for gold.

I may be used to men running away from me at speeds that suggest they have eight legs, but I will never get used to spiders running towards me.

Hyperbole aside, this spider really was the size of Gatlin’s drug charges.

While there has been many a man that I should have recoiled from due to their appalling treatment of me (and by that I mean they were last seen on Whatsapp at 21.10 and have yet to reply to the witty sequence of emojis I sent at 21.09), I typically reserve my flinching for spiders.

There, in the bathroom, I had two options:

Continue to wee and risk death by south London’s most ghetto-looking spider;

Or,

Scream for help.

I chose the second. Knickers still around ankles, I screamed for help as I long-jumped out of the loo in a race for survival.

My date gallantly went to assess the area after a cheeky assessment of mine.

…I pulled my knickers up.

I hopped about the kitchen, half naked and still needing a wee, convinced that the Usain Bolt of the spider world was on me.

Ok, that was my own hair tickling my ear.

Eeeeeeek, what was that?

Ok, that was my arm brushing against me as I flicked my hair away.

My gentleman caller said he could find no trace of the perpetrator.

This was disappointing news.

For him.

My eyes told him that locating the spider really wasn’t optional. He could either spend the night in the flat with me, or he could spend it with my eight-legged friend. The square footage wasn’t big enough for the three of us.

Very generously bowing to my spider phobia and jumping over hurdles to brighten up Hollie Day’s night, he valiantly searched again – this time successfully.

Safe in the knowledge that the spider had finally been captured and was now running cross country towards Earlsfield, I slept in a pair of tracky bums, a hoodie, a dressing-gown and a pair of sports socks, just in case it sought revenge.

Spiders are much like relationships. The good that they serve is ultimately overshadowed by the fear and drama they cause. A web of lies, wandering eyes, and when it finally goes down the drain you always wonder if it will resurface.

Whilst I am husband-hunting on my holiday, I hope I only let the fun-loving Daddy-Long-Legs of the relationship world into my home and heart.

 

*Do you think my pre-bedroom spider relay turned my date off me? Absolutely. A javelin to my pride, he didn’t try to reach the halfway point let alone the finish line

** That was our fourth date. I’ve hardly heard from him since

*** One week on and nothing. Although he is still stalking my Insta-stories so I basically feel like I’ve won

 

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Hollie Day

Hollie by name, HollieDay by nature. Join me on my journey, husband hunting on my holidays.