One of my co-workers noticed a giant (for Wisconsin standards) spider two days ago hanging out on the flip-flop display. Like most people I know, she wasn't planning on making friends with it, and in fact, would rather have never met Boris the spider in the first place. I, being the savior of all scaredy-cat females in my vicinity offered to remove Boris from his adopted home. I nudged him onto my hand and, like I had to do with my pet mice when I was younger, I proceeded to move my hands in the oh-crap-don't-fall-off-while-trying-to-fruitlessly-run-away motion as I carried him outside of the premises and placed him on a bush. I have always saved spiders and most other bugs from being squished, but never before have I been so amused at the response to doing so (mostly because very few people know I save bugs). The previously mentioned "funky" co-worker thanked me kindly for removing the deadly menace, and was clearly relieved, but the front reg girl condemned me for not killing poor, misunderstood Boris. "I don't kill spiders", I told her. The upturned nose and crinkled expression told me she not only didn't understand the sentiment, but thought the life saving expedition qualified me for the nuthouse. The next day the funky one informed me that she had told her boyfriend about Boris and that he made her promise to thank me for not killing the little bugger.
This makes me happy.
Live long and prosper Boris.
