Spiders.  I am not very good with spiders.  It probably goes back to my early childhood.  I had long and wild hair that I hated to brush.  My head looked like a brown mop was attached to it most of the summer.  One day, when I was around 8, my brother and I were climbing trees.  It was early spring and the buds on the trees were just sprouting.

That was when a small, black spider jumped from a limb in front of my face and got in my hair.

One reason I am a very passionate Christian is because if there IS a hell and that hell is build specifically for me . . . it will be bugs and spiders constantly getting into my hair.

Needless to say, I fell out of the tree, sprained my ankle, hit my head and then spent the next hour brushing my hair out to make sure the spider was gone.

This time of year is particularly horrible for me because the bugs are coming out. . . and the spiders.  The little guy in the picture above (who was actually the size of a small poodle) was hiding under the lip of the stairs leading to my bedroom.

Now, the cat (who goes to bed with me) jumped right over it and proceeded to meow at me to hurry up so we could snuggle.  I, however, was frozen in fear as my eyes adjusted to the fact that the spider was there, I was too close to it and one of us was not going to leave this meeting alive.

Here is my best guess for who this guy was:

Male Herpyllus ecclesiasticus spider

Herpyllus ecclesiasticus
(Eastern Parson Spider)

Summary

This a hunting spider that does not spin a web to capture prey. It gets its common name from the black and white color pattern reminiscent of the garb worn by old-time clergymen. Common east of the Rocky Mountains, it sometimes strays indoors in the course of prowling for a meal or seeking a mate.

You'll see them through the summer, but if you want to know what you are REALLY dealing with. . . check out the Spiders of Oklahoma.  We're always on the lookout for the Black Widow and Brown Recluse in SWOK and you haven't lived if you haven't been driving during the tarantula migration. . .

Oh, and to finish the story, my sweet husband (who agreed to be my bug killer before we got married. . . as a condition of our marriage, by the way) took care of the under-the-stair spider.