Gerbil with Eight Legs

I'm waiting for Clint to come home with our Jack in the Box dinner, so now I'm killing time because he's taking awhile (dang Jack in the Box with their whole 'we make it fresh'...just slap some microwaved patties on some buns and slather mayo on it--will ya?).

I have absolutely nothing to talk about, so I decided to share a quick memory from last summer. Clint and I went on a mission's trip to San Vicente, Mexico, which is a whole story in of itself. At any rate, we had dropped off some clothing and food at a local rehab center, and we had stayed for dinner (peanut butter sandwiches) and fellowship, which ran pretty late. We left the facility sometime around 10:00 p.m., and as we left, some of the teens in our group spotted a tarantula crawling through the desert and caught in a tin can. They began to dare each other to hold it, but no one was willing to do it--not even the big burly men in our group. I didn't like the whole idea of using a living creature as entertainment, but I was fascinated by the spider, and they really weren't mistreating it or anything, so I finally told them that I would hold it. No one believed I would do it, but for some reason I have no fear of big hairy spiders...I just was never equipped with that defense mechanism. So I held the spider, and it was not scary at all--not even a little. It felt just like holding a gerbil. The tarantula was very friendly and just crawled along my hand and arm. After seeing that I survived the whole ordeal without getting massacred, one of the big burly men finally worked up enough nerve to hold the tarantula himself.

The irony of the whole thing? I can't stand looking at this picture. It gives me chills. For some reason, spiders in person don't bother me, but seeing them in a picture--even my OWN picture--creeps me out.